Alibi
by Good Question
Summary: Destiel Crime AU : Dean Winchester is an FBI agent working for the Gang Unit in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. When shit hits the fan and body counts increase at abnormal rates he ends up running into BAU agent Castiel Novak more and more. As the cases progress and Dean thinks of transferring dark secrets from his parents past start creeping forward. (More Info Inside)
1. Pilot Fish

**Title: **Alibi

**Rating: **M

**Pairing: **Destiel with past mentions of Lisa/Dean (not shown).

**Trigger Warnings: **Everything? Seeing as it's a crime AU, specific chapters will have specific trigger warnings.

**Summary: **Destiel Crime AU. Dean Winchester is an agent with the FBI working for the Gang Unit in the field office in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. His brother lives with him as an aspiring lawyer, and is in a happy relationship with his girlfriend from California, Jessica. When shit hits the fan and the BAU is called in Sam and Dean start finding out odd things from their past, things that their mother was involved in. When body count starts rising unnaturally Dean ends up running into Castiel Novak again and again, as the pas begins to unravel in between day to day wars against serial killers and sociopaths. (**AKA; Loosely follows canon plot progression and turns all of the Supernatural cases into real human cases with angels and demons running around in the background gearing for a real life metaphor of the apocalypse.) **

**Chapter 1: Pilot Fish **

"You know, landscaping really needs to do something about that area they mowed down."

Dean opened one eye and used his propped up feet to turn him a little to face his partner. "What?"

"That piece of ugly that's behind the left wing parking lot."

The blinds rattled a little in the wind. "I'm still waiting for a functioning coffee machine in the break room, I'm not getting my hopes up."

"Getting your hopes up about what?"

Dean craned his neck and grinned up at his brother. "Hey, Gigantor. What good news does the errand boy bring us today?"

Sam scowled at his older brother and rolled his eyes. It wasn't like he took him seriously, he did have Dean to thank for getting him the internship on retainer, but it was still a little agitating; although he was doing more consulting than running around in a court room like he'd wanted to be. Working as part time paper boy between the offices. Though to be fair a lot of things hadn't been like they'd wanted them to be for a few years but this, he was okay with it, and it wasn't like the Organized Crime Unit office ever had a short supply of cases. "Hey Victor," he nodded to Dean's partner, who lifted his coffee mug at him in greeting, "nothing new, or I don't think so. Just some more originating files for you I think."

"What- no," Dean complained, letting his feet drop to the floor and sitting up to grab the file. "Because I swear if it's the KPO case again-" he muttered to himself as he ripped open the packaging, ignoring his partner's amused chuckle. Sure enough it was, two new reports filled out for people they already had in custody. The case was apparently getting clunky in the system if at least existing files didn't make it to the other locations. They were pretty much carbon copies. He thought they were all digital now, it wasn't like they couldn't check it at their leisure to see if the case was closed. Every so often he hated being the originating location and agent of a case; even if he did have an an arrest record out the roof and a closed file case legacy to match.

"Hey, don't let your mood go too sour. We've got surveillance duty tonight and you're a pain in my ass to start with."

"Never. I'm a joy to be around. Sunshine comes out my a-"

"If it helps you sleep at night, Winchester. I'm gonna go grab some grub, pick you up a sandwich?"

Dean nodded his thanks and got up to walk with his brother to the filing room. It was on the way to their legal sector and he needed to talk to his brother anyway, at least before they got home. "So is Jess, coming over tonight or?"

Sam's smile picked up at the mention of his girlfriend. He'd only seen her twice since he'd left Stanford. "No, she got dragged behind another few days but they let her change her flight time with very little bitching, believe it or not."

"Right on, right on. So?"

"Thursday, I'm gonna pick her up around four if the boss man lets me go early, otherwise I was thinking of leaving the key under the mat and she take a Taxi or something." Dean pressed his lips together a little in a frown. It wasn't that he was paranoid, except, he was. His name was pretty notorious around the around in certain unsavory circuits, hell even before he'd moved to Oklahoma, and he wasn't about to let his house get ransacked because they left a damn key under a carpet that anyone could find. He hadn't saved up for his beefed up alarm system for nothing. Sam saw the look and raised his hands in in front of him, "We don't have to. Or she could come straight to the station from the airport."

"I like that one," Dean said, pointing his index finger at Sam. He stopped in front of the filing room and clapped his brother on one shoulder, "just remember when she does get here. No sex on the furniture or in the kitchen." Sam swung his arm out to try and smack Dean back but missed as he ducked into the office with an eyebrow waggle.

Dean chuckled as he moved through the room of boxes.

While he could get to his e-mail and pull up minesweeper or solitaire when he got bored, he'd never exactly been interested in having a closer relationship with computers or the tech department. They were supposed to bring the hard copies to the room, tag 'em and then someone would make sure they were in the system. Or did they go through and get scanned into the online case files first? Either way the room was filled to the brim, some boxes messily shoved against each other and threatening to spill open at the seams, but he still felt more comfortable there than typing out and submitting the papers himself. He'd have to let someone know to move some of the boxes to the permanent storage locker in the basement. Losing files or a criminal because a damn box exploded because it hadn't been touched in 10 years seemed like the shittiest excuse to let a bad man walk.

"I see you got one too."

Dean's head snapped up and his heart almost stopped, his fingers automatically twitching for his gun though his arm didn't move. "Gordon, jesus christ man. Don't sneak up on a guy like that."

"My bad, my bad," he responded jovially from the other side of the metal rack. "Getting the sneak on the son of a legend, not often that happens."

"Oh can it," Dean muttered but his tone betrayed that he was a little pleased.

His dad's shoes were big shoes to fill, not that John had ever worked the Gang Unit directly. He'd been a marine and a damn fine one at that and became a cop when he got back home. He moved for his job and his high school sweetheart, Mary, moved with him. His original precinct had been a little violent but nothing that he couldn't handle, always making sure that his prowling grounds were a at least a city away from his home even if did make commutes a damn hell. He didn't want to bring the work back home. But when Mary got pregnant with Dean, John packed their bags and moved them out to Lawrence, Kansas. For the sixth largest city in the state, there wasn't actually as much violence that John dealt with. They moved to a cozy, rural-suburb area of the city with warm and practically model citizens. Most of the work load that came in were assault and battery chargers and property theft, even then John tried to keep himself on simple domestic disturbance calls or the one or two runaways they got a year, and drunk college kids since the University of Kansas happened to be located there. (He would still consult with narcotics officers if they asked his help but he'd left that behind).

Of course no simple peace would last and John died in the line of duty. Once you hit the midwest coming in from the north and further sweep down and out to California, you start running into "Motorcycle Clubs". A lot of them are just that, but handfuls involved in weapons and narcotics trafficking, putting them under Motorcycle Gangs (which even today Dean thought sounded ridiculous). But the name was real, they were real, and their bullets were real when confronted at a halfway point for their pass offs. The Kansas branches weren't exactly anything huge, the Sons of Silence being the one that ran around the most and even then they were based in Colorado, but the people they met, a little more problematic.

John had died a hero and Sam had small at the time, still a little too young to understand why they were putting Daddy in the ground. Dean had taken the mantle of the family after that.

He frowned at his own memories, what pride had swelled up in him for his comparison to his father sank away in an inky, black mess. Some of the things he'd done when they'd hit hard times (despite his mother starting her own shop with their family friend, Missouri, the money wasn't exactly flowing and Sam wanted to go to private school) to this day clung to his back, a gigantic smear of shame he was convinced anyone could see. He was convinced that somehow the vandalism that had started a fire at the bakery that killed their mother, two years ago, was his fault. Some hive of bee's he'd kicked over in his hurry to grow up and his desperation to provide by any means necessary. It didn't always mean meeting the nicest people. As far as he knew, no one had been caught, but it wasn't like he was allowed near the case files to begin with.

"You in there, Winchester?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly and gave a half grin at Gordon. "Yeah, just spacing. Me an Victor got a stake-out tonight. The factory down at the block that's been seeing some 'unusual activity'."

"I figure they'd have better things to do to send you out there. I tell you, there's no reason to put a surveillance on it. Just some junkies and vagrants, we got bigger fish to fry."

"I hear ya," Dean agreed, finally finding the box he was looking for and sliding the papers into the front. He glanced at the stack of papers Gordon was holding for the first time. "And here I thought I had it bad." Gordon raised an eyebrow as he sorted through the files to put into his own box. "I only got two for the old KPO case and I was throwing a fit. Looks like they killed half a forest for your stack."

Gordon laughed as he started shoving papers in, "For me it's actually good news and most of these are mine. We've been making a lot of headway. A lot of gangbangers and general wastes of life of the streets. These are personal files for arrests."

Dean nodded but couldn't help but feel skeptical. "That's a damn huge haul."

"It is, it's been a good few months, Dean. A really good few months." Gordon replied with a smile.

"Right, keep it up I guess," Dean responded giving him a head nod as he existed the stuffy room. It was starting to smell like dust mites. At least that's what he assumed dust mites smelled like. That and molded paper.

When he got back to his desk there was a small note sitting on his desk and he smiled before picking up the phone. He dialed the number he knew by heart and waited patiently as it rang. He glanced at the large, plastic clock that hung at the edge of the office space. A little after four, Ben would be out of school by now and despite the negative paternity test, and that he and Lisa were no longer together, they'd agreed (much to his panic and joy) that until Lisa found someone else to rely on, someone Ben could rely on, the job was hesitantly his. (Although the relationship was a lot more an Uncle than a father.)

"Hey Lis-"

"_Ben got into a fight at school today." _

"Did he win?" Dean asked before he could tell his brain not to speak.

"_Did he-? I forgot to ask in the middle of sitting in the principles offices and picking him up from the nurse." _

"Sorry sorry. Foot in mouth," Dean replied, sitting up at his desk. He looked up briefly just as Victor walked in and threw him his sub. He mouthed a thank you and then tuned continued. "What happened? He okay?"

"_Yeah, he's. He's bruised and got a split lip but he's fine. GROUNDED-" _Dean could tell she was raising her voice so Ben would hear it- "_but fine. I actually don't know what happened, I wasn't exactly given details and I think he'd rather talk to you." _

"I promise not to encourage his violent behavior no matter how cool the fight was or how good the reason for it... much."

"_I could throttle the both of you," _Lisa replied but there was a smile in her voice, _"you going to have time to drop by tonight or -?" _

"Not tonight Lis, I'm on surveillance. Tell Ben we'll talk about it next time I'm there and not to give you any gray hairs early. We still doing weekend dinner and all that?"

"_Of course we are. You know Ben would tare the house down if we didn't." _

"Just Ben huh?" Dean flirted. Just because they'd given it a shot, for about a year, didn't mean that they weren't close, or that he had stopped being attracted to her or care about her. It just wasn't his life, not like that.

"_Just Ben," _Lisa replied, laughing a little. _"All right well, you be safe, okay?" _Worry crept into her voice.

His job had actually been one of the reasons they'd separated, the long hours, with how active of a field agent he was, and one too many hospital trips in critical condition had taken it's toll on their little family life, but it wasn't a job he could give up. It was too important, and until they'd reconnected (the start of his second year there, this being the first few months of his third), he had never had to make the choice between his FBI work and home. Back when Mary had been alive, he was just finishing his qualifications and half a year before she died he'd proudly been able to call himself an agent.

"You know I will Lis. I'll see you this weekend."

Dean hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair, munching on his sandwich.

"How's the wife and kids?" Victor asked settling into the desk opposite him, riffling through their case file.

"She's not my wife," Dean replied a little sullen, but only a little.

"Practically was," Victor countered with an eyebrow raise.

Dean rolled his eyes but conceded the point, "They're good, Ben got in a fight," -Victor laughed- "and Lisa's none too happy about it. She thinks it's my fault for showing the kid how to make a fist."

"Well you are a shining example of a model citizen."

"I like to think I am," Dean said grinning.

Victor shook his head, smiling and with a snort went back to the papers.

"Those the super important surveillance we're doing?"

"Yeah, and honestly I'm starting to agree with the office gossip. There's nothing here that seems out of the ordinary," Victor said grabbing two papers and handing them to Dean. "A couple of bums go in and out and sleep there, occasionally a small barrel fire to keep 'em warm. A junkie here and there but nothing to imply gang activity, from any branch."

"Maybe they're trying to get us out of the way so they can prepare some type of surprise when we get back," Dean mused, half serious. There was nothing out of the ordinary in the tapes or pictures or witness reports. "With pie."

"Better be, I haven't had a job like this since my rookie days," Victor grumbled.

"We could just set up the car and say we did. Hit up the strip club and get a few beers," Dean offered with a laugh. "Or better yet, order out strippers and beers, they can hang out in the van."

"As much as I love working with you Dean, you love those girls a little too much for me to comfortable in a van with you and them."

"Hey now, I can keep my hands to yourself."

"Since when?" came a call from somewhere across the office, followed by a round of laughter.

"Shut it! All of you!" Dean yelled back into the room, smiling himself. "Silence!" He pushed back out of his chair and grabbed his jacket, "Come on, let's go. It's almost five and I wanna make a snack runs before we go numb our asses."

…...

The first few hours of the surveillance went as expected. Dean griping about wanting to stretch his feet and Victor rolling his eyes in between staring out of the binoculars. It wasn't until 11:00 rolled around that things started happening. It took both of them awhile to notice it, neither having truly expected to have to pay attention. Victor tapped Dean's thigh aggressively, they'd been taking shifts on naps, and held his hand up to silence Dean as he sat up, groggy. Before he could even ask his question his partner pointed out of the window.

He sat up a little, hand sliding on top of the empty candy bar wrapper next to his seat. He grabbed the binoculars that were held out to him and looked in the direction that Victor was pointing. His eyebrows shot up behind the rubber grips on the lenses and then squinted trying to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. There was a black SUV rolling into the abandoned warehouse, turning slowly and moving until it sat in the shadows of the building away from the street lights and the one trash bin fire that was going.

"Is the tape streaming to live or are we just recording?" Dean asked setting the binoculars down and handing them back over. He turned to the laptop they had set next to them and pulled up the screen for their feed, coming from the camera hooked up to their grill. He flicked to night vision to be able to see the car clearer. No one had stepped out yet. "That's a GMC Yukon, like really souped up," Dean mumbled to himself analyzing still shots that the camera automatically took every 30 seconds. "Brand new from what I can tell, running the plates, and I bet they'll be new too. Whoever's riding this has at least a little spending cash. These things start at like 50k."

"They could make payments on it," Victor suggested as he used he sent a short update back to their office.

"That thing is like fresh off the line nice," Dean countered, squinting at the pictures. He admitted to himself that while it could've just been an insanely well kept car it was doubtful. Hell, he'd bet money on it that when you sat down in it the leather seats still squeaked and the car smelled like latex glue and the vinyl, leather, and oil treatments. "Thing fits like 6 people plus some change, new model too. Came out this year I think." He adjusted in his seat and turned the laptop on the small table that was attached to the center console. "The only people around this block, even bangers could maybe afford the broken down creeper van down at the junk yard."

"That's a point," Victor admitted analyzing the screen. He tapped Dean's shoulder rapidly with his fingers as they turned to share the screen. Someone was stepping out of the vehicle. They couldn't make out any of the persons details, but the man entered the abandoned building and after about 30 minutes of waiting no one else left. He'd come out of the right side backseat, so the driver had to still be in the car.

"Any word yet from base camp? Do we still just sit here or?"

"They told us to stay still. They may or may not put another car to tail 'em."

"We found 'em," Dean grumbled, only half-joking. After sitting on his ass for almost 9 hours now he wasn't about to abandon the chase when it was just getting fun.; though at the same time a nice cold beer and a little Skinnemax sounded like a great way to spend the rest of the evening. He was pulled out of his thoughts by a beep on the computer. "John Johnson? Oh come on that has to be fake," he told the computer screen as they waited for an ID to come up. He turned the screen to Victor who laughed a little too. The guy that popped up looked like about the purest, white bread model ( I bring my neighbors nasty-ass, home-made fruit cake on christmas) citizen, with peroxide bleached blond hair and dull blue eyes, they looked like contacts "And no priors and nothing else in the system, of course."

"So is the guy in the picture or driver or just someone they swiped?" Victor wondered out loud. The guy that had entered the building was significantly taller and bulkier. They were going to work on the assumption that it wasn't him.

They sat in the car looking through the files that were being sent to see if there was anything they could use when what sounded like a small explosion with an echo danced across the courtyard. Dean and Victor immediately slid their hands to their gun's, sliding the safeties off and keeping their body poised to spring out of the car. It was still technically a surveillance mission, so for now all they could do was report shots fired and wait for permission to engage.

The radio didn't buzz alive until after Victor and Dean were already crouching behind the dashboard to the car, a bullet hole in their windshield, large spider webs spreading across the glass. Another shot fired and hit, webbing the glass more. He hit the car in reverse and hit the gas, getting them a safer distance away. From the distance the van had been at and the force of impact on the windshield, damn near going through it the second time, they sure as hell weren't packing basic amo or your regular model gun. Had to be fullmetal jackets too, to be able to drive through the windshield like that.

Just as he let the car slide to a stop so that he could adjust his view a final round speared through the center of the large crack and embedded itself in the back window. "FUCK DAMN IT," Dean exclaimed, opening the car door and crouching behind it for cover as Victor rolled out on the other side to do the same. He chanced a peek behind the side of the door panel only to watch as as the man they'd seen walking out jump into the vehicle as it turned to speed out of the lot. Dean pulled himself back into the car and sent the distress call to the station. After receiving confirmation and sending the license plate he called to his partner, "You okay, Victor?"

"Yeah, just fucking dandy," he spat out, hoisting himself back into the seat. He stared at the windshield in mild shock. "How'd they even know we were here? It's not like we're damn amateurs with covering the car up."

"I don't know, man," Dean grumbled out as he raised his hand to gently examine the bullet holes. Cops and FBI especially had reinforced glass. They weren't impossible to shoot out (hell especially if they needed to shoot from inside of the car the bullet bouncing back would do more harm than good) but all cars generally had two layers of glass and plastic in between. At that distance the bullet should've flattened out, maybe made a crack about the size of golf ball depending on the caliber. The three shots in total, judging by the increasingly large impact, until the final one that had shot through past them, the person had started moving forward every time they pulled the trigger, and their aim was damn good. "The fucker weakened the glass before shooting through the center, I'm not sure I could do that in the dark where he was aiming."

Victor ran a hand down his cheek and then to his chin, leaning against the car door, gun still out just in case. "Doesn't make any damn sense."

"To you and me both."

They waited about 20 minutes in silence before they heard sirens and one FBI and one local police station car pull up behind them. They put their guns back into their pockets and stepped out of the vehicles with their hands up, just in case, before moving towards the other officers. They updated the new arrivals on what had happened before climbing into the FBI van and someone called a tow truck for the busted vehicle.

…...

"What the hell happened, Dean?!"

Dean groaned as he stepped into the apartment he and Sam shared. "Come on Sammy, I just walked in."

Sam frowned at him but stepped out of his way so that Dean could drop his bag on the floor and slouch his way to the fridge. He pulled out a beer as Sam pulled up a stool to the counter. His hair was messy and his eyes still looked a little swollen with sleep. His eyes were clear as cut glass though.

"It wasn't anything that bad."

"You got your windshield busted through."

"Oh one bullet doesn't count as busted through," Dean defended as he pulled out a beer for Sam too, who accepted it with a glower. "Look man, I don't know what happened. One minute we're just sitting, listening to damn crickets chirp and then some SUV pulls up and out of nowhere there's gun shot."

"I thought nothing ever went on there," Sam asked as he took a pull of his beer. "That it was supposed to a piece of cake."

"Yeah, well, sometimes things don't work out like that Sammy," Dean replied tersely before sighing and sitting down on his own stool. "I dunno man. That was weird. Like, really weird."

"They'll probably have more information tomorrow," Sam offered, finally relaxing now that he knew his brother was safe. They'd called him to give him a heads up, just as a courtesy but given him no more details than that his brother's squad car had been shot and he'd requested back up. He stared at what was a mostly full beer bottle in his hands and stood up to go dump it out, it'd only go stale if he left in the fridge.

"Hey, hey, hold up," Dean said getting up and snatching the beer out of his brother's hand, and pulling it away. "That's no way to treat beer."

"I'm going back to bed, Dean. It'll just go bad in the fridge," Sam countered giving him brother a 'simpleton' look.

Dean pouted back a little and started moving towards the couch with them in hand. "I'll just drink 'em both then."

"Suit yourself, alcoholic."

"I'm a functioning alcoholic thank you very much."

"You know those don't _actually _exist," Sam countered before closing the door to his own bedroom.

The TV buzzed to life, static bouncing around before the screen flared and the last late night program before infomercials started playing. Dean didn't even bother to flip the channel, instead settling more comfortably into his couch, feet propped up on the rather nice table.

Most of the furniture wasn't his. The apartment he'd had prior to this had been much shabbier, not that he'd minded since he spent most of his time at the office anyway. But after Sam had finished out his last year at Stanford (Dean had insisted he get done before moving to Oklahoma City. While he'd needed the company of his brother after their mother's death he didn't feel right pulling Sam away in his last year), Sam had insisted on getting some decent furniture and a new apartment. Miraculously Sam had managed to save up most of his scholarship and grant money that had been left over from going to school (he'd gotten a full ride and then qualified for extra benefits), and even on retainer as a starting lawyer, he was making pretty decent money. While, Dean's salary was nothing to laugh at, he could've never afforded the apartment by himself. He'd brought over most of his ratty things, which Sam had banished to Dean's own room (other than the couch) and brought some of the furniture that Jess had been willing to part with, with him. Dean had let him do all of the shopping with Jessica when she'd come to visit the first time and their apartment decoration reflected it.

He figured at some point that Jessica was either going to move in or Sam was going to move back to California. Dean had brought it up once and while Sam had seemed generally good about Jessica moving there, he'd gotten that 'pissed in my cereal' expression when Dean had suggested that Sam go back. While he thought it was unnecessary it warmed his heart that his brother would want to be near him during their time of grief, and maybe some change after. He knew that they'd eventually get separate apartments but the fact that Sam at least wanted to live in the same state was comforting.

Exhaustion crept over him and he fell asleep on the couch, waking up in the morning a crick in his back and a foul attitude. He'd have hell to raise the second he got to the office. Sam had already left by the time he woke up, with a note on the fridge that said that his boss had called and told him to stroll in about mid-day but no later. They still hadn't made any headway on what had happened and were analyzing the tapes. They also had no other current case open so there wasn't a rush, and he'd gotten home late. Dean sent a mild appreciative thought to the FBI gods as he slowed down his morning, taking the time to shower and make himself toast before heading out. He drove a little faster than he should've down the highway but he was eager to see what they had to tell him. At the very least they should've had ballistics come back.

Which, of course they hadn't. And they didn't. Dean spent the weekend driving back and forth between his place and the Braeden's, eating casserole and playing football in the park with Ben, and they still had no news for him on Sunday. He and Victor and a handful of other agents worked a drug bust with 4 successful arrests and a Tuesday night bar celebration, and they still didn't have answers. He spent Wednesday dealing with his geeky brother, trying to get the entire apartment for Jessica's arrival, and they still didn't have anything for him.

By Thursday he was ready stomp down doors and swing off of ceiling lamps.

"Is there something they're just _not _telling us? I mean I know, Cassidy, and she's the damn best Squint on this side of the Atlantic at least."

"I couldn't tell ya. I mean hell they wouldn't even tell me why they thought something was gonna go down there," Victor mumbled around a piece of bacon as he and Dean shared a late lunch.

"I don't like this, I don't like it one bit."

"You and me both." They cheered to that with their soda's, not being allowed to drink if they were heading back to work (though Dean often ignored that rule). Just as the plastic bottles thumped together Victor's phone started ringing. "It's the office, hold up- Yeah?" Dean just nodded and went back to his sandwich, texting Sam who'd informed him that Jessica had just arrived at the station and that everything was fine and he'd take her home after the break and they'd get dinner started for when Dean got home around 8. He tapped at the screen idly and tuned back into Victor's conversation at his excitement. "Really? Good, all right, we'll be right back." Dean looked up, curious. "Speak of the devil and he shall arise. They got the files in, sending them right now. Said they're waiting at the front office for us."

"Finally," Dean said, rolling his eyes and holding his hands up to heaven. "Time to get this show on the road."

Dean and Victor jokingly squabbled briefly about who drove less like a grandma before Dean hopped into their squad car, leaving their trash on the table in their eagerness to get back to the office. Dean turned off of the turnpike and turned into the massive gray parking lot, weaving in closer. Just as he was about to turn to go up a few more rows the car was blasted with a huge wall of wind, flipping them sideways and causing them to skid. The wall of wind was accompanied by the sound of glass shattering, and concrete bursting open, and followed by a burning heat.

"Vic-Victor you okay!" Dean screamed out, his ears ringing from the blast, he felt disoriented as he tried to fumble with his seat belt. In the back of his mind he knew there was a knife attachment clipped to the end of it to break the seat belt open in situations like these where it locked but his ears were ringing too loudly and his vision swam and all he could see was red. He lifted his head so that he could look straight ahead of him, the blast had turned their car just so that they could see the entrance to the FBI building on fire. His heartbeat slowed in his chest as he registered how high the flames were eating and how the entire front of the building seemed to be leaning forward and crumbling down. Panic swelled a little in his chest as he reached over to try and shake his partner awake, he could see a small pool of blood underneath his head.

"DAMN IT".

….

Three different screens were playing the fire live at the headquarters. Charlie sat at her computer screen with wide, horrified eyes. She'd already sent out the message to everyone on her list (Bobby Singer, Ellen Harvelle, Pamela Barnes, and Castiel Novak) and was just finishing sending the footage into their meeting room. She swallowed thickly and gathered a few of her papers and a mug before speeding out of her dark tech room. She passed a few people on the way, all panicking and scrambling to get everything together as news of the attack trickled in. Most of the team was gathered in the room as she sped in, sitting down and hitting play on their big screen.

"Oh my god," Ellen said, leaning forward towards the screen. "Is that Oklahoma City field office?"

As they were watching another smaller explosion went off in the first floor, spreading the flames.

"The explosion, as far as we can tell was set off about 10 minutes ago," Pamela said reading through the paperwork and glancing at her phone. "Initial recon says it was set off first floor, main entrance. We're getting FBI techs and half an army headed over but they still want us there to profile the scene and see if we need to worry about other offices getting hit and after that we're getting Internal Investigations to canvas. I think they want us to work together on this one."

"This ain't gonna be a picnic, that's for sure. There's gonna be more media than rats in a sewer, and a lot of angry agents," Bobby said walking in, Castiel in tow.

"Get your office go-bags, we're going to start canvasing the second they clear us for entry," Castiel added, remaining at the door. "I do not know how many days we'll be staying but they've bumped this up to our current top priority, all our other cases are being put on the back burner for now."

Charlie sighed as she started compiling the floor plans to the location as well as a brief history of the Oklahoma City base, why it could be important it happened there. "And here I thought that the worst part of my morning would be filtering through new applicants."

Ellen put a warm hand on her shoulder and gave her the as best of a smile that she could muster.

"I am not looking forward to the body count."

**A/N: **What do ya'll think? I'll publish a full bibliography for my information in a linked thing on my writers tumblr when I'm done (and a non-click version on AO3 only since ff does not allowed links to be presented in chapters). 80% of the stuff I'm talking about I've researched (I've gone through 5-6 books now, and the crime statistics for Lawrence, Kansas and Oklahoma, City Oklahoma were taken from actually 2011-2012 compiled files.) You **can **actually take a tour through Sam and Dean's apartment, as well as when it comes up in flashbacks later Sam's apartment. Sam and Dean live about 15 minutes from the FBI Field Office head office (one of the at least, 59 if I remember correctly). I will also be publishing, after I'm done, my full research notes for those who are curios and if needed and you have questions I can provide astricks and footnotes when needed. The rest is pure and utter fiction to the best of my ability.

I am super excited for this project and I hope you guys are too.


	2. Pandora's Box

**Chapter 2: Pandora's Box **

"So, why here, why now?"

Pamela leaned back in her seat and leaned over to the side to look at Castiel in the front seat. "So far, no indicators. They're still going through the damage most of the building isn't even safe to enter yet. No new information's been passed forward. I'm sure we'll get more once we get there but preliminary assumption is political? Generally a safe place a to start with when a government building is attacked, especially since Timothy McVeigh. Unless this turns out personal, but there's nothing especially, well, special about the Oklahoma office. I mean it's what, one of 56 or something?"

Bobby grunted in agreement from the driver's seat, steering clear of the cones and road blocks set up. They'd hit the ground running, lights flashing, and an FBI vehicle had been waiting for them at the runway. The flights coming in and out of Oklahoma had been halted nation wide at least for a few hours. They were under special clearance for private flights for law enforcement only. All commercial traffic was likely to be held up the entire day. An attack on a government building generally halted the damn near entire nation; whether it was necessary or not. They were halfway at the field office in record time. The traffic lanes had been shut down, all the ones leading to the FBI at least, so that there would be no inward traveling cars other than marked government vehicles. Usually it took about 30 minutes to get from Will Rogers World Airport to the field office, but after only 15 minutes the billowing clouds of smoke could be seen in their windshield. There were no red and yellow flickers to suggest a continuing fire which toned down the anxiety level in the car; they all prayed that they'd been put out already. It would minimize the damage.

They fell silent as they watched the cloud grow larger, and larger, until finally they could see the crumpled front of the building and the bright flashing lights of the ambulances, police, and the fire department. Worry crept into all of their stomachs like a slowly uncoiling snake as they turned in, rolling forward to the line of FBI vehicles preventing passage. Bobby pushed down the window and instead of just flashing his ID as they usually did, he handed it over to the other agent to run it through the system before they were allowed to pass through. There was collective wince in the team at the massive noise that had built from emergency vehicles driving in and out of the location. They'd sent out a seizure warning across the official line for officers prone to elliptic attacks from the mass of flashing lights. Ellen frowned and clenched her hand in a fist as she glanced around through the tinted window at the bodies laid out on the ground, blankets pulled over them; dead and waiting for transport to a second location autopsy room.

The van finally came to a halt and they stepped out of the vehicle, doors slamming. They flashed their badges at the officers approaching and let them surround the vehicle and pat them down. It wasn't a time to take chances. More-so it had actually been the teams suggestion to take extra measures. With how difficult it was to get anything past the metal detectors and tests for these specific situations they 'd made an initial assumption they at least knew someone who worked for a government agency or where one themselves. It was maybe one in a million chance that someone would try and come in to detonate a second device to take out the emergency responders, but that one in a million chance was enough to give a damn about.

"Thank you for being here so quickly," the local agent in charge said to them as they walked up. "Agent Mills, pleasure."

"We came as quickly as we could. Although, it would have been better to have never met considering the circumstances," Castiel responded with a leveled look, scanning the area.

"Is it safe to walk into the building yet?" Ellen asked, surveying the scene.

There was rubble everywhere.

It was a miracle that the emergency vehicles had even been able to get as close to the building as they had. There were padded up construction crews with cranes (the machinery pulled in from nearby sites) hauling massive pieces of concrete out of the way so that they could get access further into the building. Small paths had been cleared by sweepers to hand carry the injured or dead out of the building but not enough for the cars to get right to the ,no longer existing, doors. At least there were no flames to be seen; even if there was still water spewing from hoses to, flooding the front of the building; just in case they had missed something (the electricity had been cut off to the entire building to prevent electrical fires as well). There were massive puddles forming on the ground and a white , cloudy, powder coating covering the windows and the walls.

"I'd say give it another half hour before they qualify the building safe for entry. We just got the flames out."

"What's been gathered so far?" Bobby asked, drawing his eyes away from the scene.

"Very little. Bomb squad and SWAT is about to go in and search the building. They're trying to put supports in to make sure the top floor doesn't collapse so it's taking awhile. We're damn thankful that the entire building didn't collapse. We had maybe 300-400 agents in the building, and at least a few dozen civilians, and a few hundred office people in the building total. Thankfully the lower levels don't have as many buildings in it for people to linger in, mainly storage and files. So far we're working on the assumption that the first floor has no survivors, everyone we've pulled out either asphyxiated or were crushed by the rubble. According to the EMT's most that we're pulling out won't survive the burns or the impact on their internal organs from the blast and being thrown into walls. The explosion spread across the entire front of the building, blew out the center of the windows, but it didn't touch anything else until the second blast when the flames reached the electrical room. We're not sure that was intentional or not, no other immediate points of detonation have been found."

"So, as far as we can tell, the bomb did not target the main beams of the building or its foundation? They didn't actively try, or be able to bring the entire building down?" Castiel asked, as they started walking through the destruction.

"That's it, so far. Very few of the buildings actual support structure was damage. Most of the damage was caused by the flames that followed the explosion and not the physical impact," Mills responded as she waved them through a group of officials.

"All right, that's a base to start on. Are there any survivors coherent enough to interview, someone on site perhaps? We came to the location straight from BAU headquarters. What office or location should we be setting up in so that we can begin working?" Castiel asked, fiddling with the small thread that was loose inside his pocket. It was the only nervous twitch he would let himself have.

"Plenty of survivors from outside the immediate blast zone. 90 percent of them from the parking lot, however. They were either leaving or coming in for the evening shift. It looks like the bomb was set off between the switch of the night and day shift. They're currently air lifting and carrying people out of the building from the top floors" As they walked closer to the center of the wreckage they could see people lining up at the few open windows, ready to be evacuated. "We haven't set up an official building yet but that tent over there," she pointed her gloved finger to a massive collection of pole supported tents, separated only by wires, " is where everybody's setting up. We've already got Homeland Security there, Internal Investigations, Bomb Squad, our locals, and that little corner in the back is the CSI and CIA folks."

Bobby looked at Pamela, "We should get set and hit up Charlie. Girl's probably got all the specs we need to keep this rolling. You guys going to be okay?" He looked at Cas and Ellen.

Castiel nodded as their teammates started to walk off, ready to work. He paused and interrupted the next thing Agent Mills was trying to say. "If the building won't be safe to enter," he said as he watched his teammates disappear into the crowd, "Do you know what location most of the survivors are being sent to? We'd like to speak with those not in critical condition to take inventory of the situation before the explosion went off."

"The Oklahoma Heart Hospital is a straight shot down West Memorial, and about five minutes away. There is no traffic on the turnpike or highway, so you should be able to speed straight through. That's where the first people, the ones we found outside of the building, were sent. That's your best shot for coherent."

"Thank you."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

They waited in the lounge of the hospital to start with, not wanting to cause massive alarm to those who didn't know what had happened. (Even though it was hard to be ignorant.) The two of them talked quietly next each other, speculating and consulting about what had happened as they waited for a nurse to let them know if they had someone to talk to. Both of their phones beeped with a message from Bobby, and Ellen sat up to find an nurse to ask for a private room. It'd been an hour and some change already since they'd arrived and Bobby had new information. Although the team had not been cleared to enter the building, SWAT and Bomb Squad had done its initial canvas which Charlie had correlated with blue prints of the building.

Cas grabbed the laptop they'd brought with the in the carry bag and settled it on the desk of the vacated office room.

"We're here."

Charlies' face popped up on the screen, as well as a more blurred image of Pamela and Bobby on a second. "_So, with everything the squad sent me and looking at the blue prints there's no way that the bomb could've brought the building down to start with. Wrong location and soooo not enough fire power_" - they made a motion for her to continue- " _right, They isolated the area at least of the initial detonation, and it was at the front desk, like the actual physical desk when you handed it off to the receptionist. Nowhere near a single support structure_."

"So it could've been personal?" Ellen ventured, settling in her chair and watching the 3D animations Charlie had created from the blast with her initial information. Crude but at least they had a starting point.

"_Maybe? But another thing they found was very few fragments, like, none. They're still searching the entire building, but from the first sweep nothing. No gigantic metal bits, nothing if they were trying to blow up the entire building. Bomb squad is guessing that the container was made of flammable material at least which makes the type of bomb at least very well constructed to have made such a blast without leaving a ton of evidence._"

Pamela nodded and waved off an agent that had tried to walk in. "We're thinking something small. But the FBI office has metal detectors and personal rub downs out the ass. Hell, I don't think we're even allowed to walk in with boxes, letters, or some damn cupcakes without it going through that x-ray scan and _then _it gets sent up to whatever office it needs to."

"We've been also been thinking it's either someone who got around the system and the screenings, which how the hell does someone walk in with a bomb and no one notice? It's the damn FBI-" Bobby cursed, "or it was already there, built there."

"Agreed," Castiel said, rubbing his hand over his chin and then up to his forehead. "We still don't have enough information to call this a personal attack or one on the institution. I'm sure Pamela is already on her way, "- she'd popped out a bit ago- " to the cameras to try and calm down the nation. We haven't had panic this bad sinc -" There was static that interrupted them.

"Let's just pray it's personal," Ellen mumbled, and it was followed by a somber silence.

"We have someone ready to see you," a nurse said, opening the door for two-seconds without knocking.

"Yes, thank you," Ellen responded, giving her a glare for not waiting. She looked at Castiel, "I'll get the rest of the info. I'll end up trying to be kinder than I should be to the patients with the situation. You go interview. We need information" Ellen said, scooting her chair to the center of the screen.

"I'm not sure if I should be insulted or complimented."

"It's a compliment-" came a chorus from Ellen and the team on live with them.

"Let me know if any big developments happen, I'll have my phone and beeper open," Castiel said with a half smirk.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Sometimes, Dean has nightmares. Special nightmares.

He had normal nightmares.

Being naked in front of your friends, some freak demon from a horror movie he'd watched before going to bed chasing him... run of the mill fears. But these nightmares would start out okay and that was the worst part, he told himself every time. He would be playing football in the yard with his father. Tossing around an old, worn down piece of leather and stuffing, that John had kept from his father's days. The laces were torn and about to break, and the skin was ripped apart like a snake shedding its skin, but it threw just fine. At least good enough for them.

Dean remembered the green grass that his father worked so hard to mow to the perfect length, and how every summer the smell of a fresh baked pie would waft through the neighborhood when Mary set it on the window sill to cool. And every time the smell hit them, his father would say, "Boy, I think your mother wants us to come in." And he and his father would tussle around and Sammy would be in his little kitchen crib, trying to look between the bars or over the edge, grinning like it was the best day of his little life. Every time he would walk by and ruffle his brother's hair before going to give his mother a hug and asking how long it was until they could have pie. Every so often he was allowed to feed Sam himself. Every time that they both made the mark, spoon met mouth, they'd both grin and Dean would feel so proud.

Sam had always been a happy child. They'd been a happy family.

Dean would remember Mary tending to half dead roses and not refusing to give up and his father laughing because that's why he fell in love with her.

And then, he would, in that dream, remember his father's funeral shortly after. He recall looking up, while his mother had tried to stand, stoic and proud (like she always had in times of strife); trying to keep them together, to be the rock. He'd been watching her shoulders shake. Mary had collected herself quickly, but when Sam had started crying, Dean had lost it.

He remembered holding Sam back from running to the coffin and throwing himself on it, demanding they open it and show him proof that it was his dad in there. Honestly, the job of re-animating the corpse for open coffin funerals had to be the most fucked up job ever. He was glad they had a closed coffin funeral.

As Sam struggled against him he remembered yelling, "It's okay Sammy. It's okay," and squeezing tighter as his brother's legs buckled, "This is how hero's go to fight somewhere else. Someone else need's saving and dad's the hero they need." Sammy had bawled that he didn't care. _They_ were the family. _They_ were supposed to be the most important. Why would he leave _them_. And where is Daddy and I want to see his face. And finally Sam collapsed into the dirty, awfully managed grass, ground and wrapped his warms around Dean's small thighs. Dean had collapsed after him and wrapped his small frame around his brother while the captain handed Mary the folded up flag. Her arms shook and Dean could see her knees start to buckle but she locked them, her calves straining, and clutched the flag in her arms.

Dean had held his brother tightly to his chest and watched as their mother walked to the coffin and laid the flag down. She'd stepped back and Dean had took his jacket off to wrap it around his brother. The troops would be firing shots in the air before they would lower him into the ground. He remembered looking at his mom, her body shaking, and his brother in his arms, and then zeroing in on the flag and whispering, "It's okay, Dad. I've got them. I've got all of them. I' gonna take care of them. I'll make sure everything's okay." And after the whispers, his father's friend, Rufus (the current head at the Oklahoma office) looked him in the eye with something heavy behind them. Dean didn't flinch. Rufus had given him a small nod. He was the man of the house now.

They'd walked in silence away from the grave-site. Dean carrying Sammy because his brother wouldn't let go of his shirt, Mary's hand on his shoulder. He recalled some people criticizing his mother for not breaking down at his funeral. Her husband has just died, where was the wailing? But they didn't know her, they didn't understand. There were several types of strength, but her specific type of strength was what John had fallen in love with. The cliché sweetheart that wrote him letters through the war and didn't blink when came back. Always stood as a pillar for him to lean, and that's how she saw him out of the earthly world. The officers and marines that were in his company gave her a hug and held her tight and told her that he died a hero and he'd be damn proud and always watching over them.

She didn't let go of her control until she was at home, thinking both of her sons were asleep. He had crawled into bed with Sam, holding him close and rocking him to sleep, but he couldn't sleep himself. So Dean crawled out of bed and listened to his mother cry behind a cracked door, and finally walked in. Mary tried to collect herself and he crawled up into their parents bed and wrapped his arms as far as he could around her waist, and told her "It's okay." She had cried harder, pulled him into her lap and whispered brokenly, "Thank you baby, thank you. You know you really are your father's son." She cradled him in her arms and fell down onto to the bed, squeezing him. And finally fell asleep.

That's when he knew he had to do everything for his family, no matter the cost. The government gave crap benefits to veterans families no matter what they said they would do at sign up. He didn't even understand that they would be screwed over, and John's police office didn't give him many benefits for his family to live on after his death. Dean wouldn't be able to hold a gun or a badge in his hands for several years but he was going to get there. Nothing, _nothing _, would ever happen to them again. Not like this. He was going to keep them safe no matter the cost.

Because of that attitude he'd met... _them. _Some guys rolling around when he was bagging groceries told him there was an easier way to make money, and make sure they got everything. They told him, just walk out of the store with a candy bar to give Sammy. Just walk out of the store with two magazines to share. Just walk out with a game you snuck out but make sure you had a game you already paid for. The cameras wouldn't catch you handing off the $60 dollar game to someone else and then you could "return it" for cash. Then it became 'grab this thing out of someone's purse.' 'Break in here, just figure out the lock.' 'Grab this... sell this... deal this...' And while Mary's shop was thriving there was a the tow and car shop that did deals in the back that he could say he was working at. He did that for years until...

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Beeep... beep... beeep...

The most annoying sound Dean had ever had to hear, over and over again, he thought as his heart lurched, sweat dripping down his back from the nightmare.

He'd even changed his alarm sound to some damn tropical birds screeching just to escape that beeping. And here it was again. Drugged up and half blind, listening to his heart pop up on the monitor, counting its beats; Dean almost felt like holding his breath to fuck with the machine, but that would've been cruel to whoever might be near him. So, instead, he took in a deep breath and tried to pry his eyes open.

It was bright. White glass, bright lights showed up in his vision, blinding him for a second. He had to shut his eyes the second he opened them. Dean heard a soft whisper in his ear and half started sobbing at the warmth.

"D-Dean?"

He knew that voice. And he knew he had to wake up when that voice begged him like that. Dean had heard it too many times (with other stab wounds and gun shots) and every time some higher being (that he didn't believe in) decided he should fully become coherent when that voice pleaded to him like that.

Long locks of brown hair, and tears bombarded his vision as he became more coherent. Dean heard his voice crack and his lungs made a nasty rasping sound. "Hey Lis."

Tears and broken laughter.

"Dad!"

He turned his head and gave his best grin, "Hey there, champ."

Ben swam into his vision, and Dean made his smile eyes reach his eyes. He tried to reach out his hand, the one closest to Ben, but couldn't move it. His fingers twitched in vain as he kept trying, biceps twitching angrily. Dean had to reach out, had to squeeze that hand back, to make sure that boy didn't feel the emptiness he'd felt when he sneaked a peek under the coffin to try and hold his dad's hand and John never responded.

Although Dean had been irritated at the burn that the tubes down his nose and throat made him experience, he was grateful for them as he made eye contact with Ben. At least he was alive. He couldn't care less if he'd lost half his body. He'd deal with phantom limb later or something, but right now he had a family to look out for. "I'm okay."

There was a sob in the background as Ben flung himself as far as he could over the metal guard rail on the bed, to hold him. Dean reached across with his functioning hand, feeling the IV needle try and pull out of his arm, to wrap around what little he could of him. "Try not to squish my tubes," he joked, and immediately wanted to take it back when Ben drew back and looked at him with haunted eyes. He really had been in the hospital too many times to make that joke. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Lisa said, and Dean turned his head towards her. "Your, your arm is busted. You.. ahh. Just. Hey." Tears started flowing harder after she said her hello.

Dean moved his hand away from Ben's back and reached out to grab Lisa's in his own. "Hey, we're okay."

"_Dean._"

The expression in her face made his heat drop. He was awake, hurt, but awake but the destruction he saw in her eyes broke his heart. He had to glance over to Ben who was finally energetic, just happy that he was awake and talking. He held her hand and squeezed it tightly. Dean turned to Ben, "Hey kiddo, could you get me some soda? I'm thirsty and I don't want some damn sink water."

"Don't curse around Ben," Lisa interjected, laughing a little as two small tears squeezed past her eyes.

Ben nodded and ran off, blinking his eyes fiercely but giving a champion's smile. The see through glass door slid shut sharply before Dean turned his face back to Lisa. He attempted to untangle his hand to brush it through her hair. Lisa shook her head. "Dean... I... thank... thank God you're awake."

"Don't I always pull through?" he joked.

She laughed dryly and let herself collapse in the hospital chair that she'd pulled up to the bed. "The... do you... do you remember what happened?"

Dean blinked and tried to shuffle through his recent memory. He'd woken up in the hospital so many times he had a hard time differentiating between singular events. Had it just been another case? Did he get shot again? Or was he playing hero or- "SAM?! WHERE'S SAM?"

Lisa started crying and Dean's heart stopped , the heart monitor made a small screech before it started counting beats again if not at a faster rate. She leaned forward, "No-no baby, no. Shit, I shouldn't have started crying. Sam's fine. He's good, he's all right. Just-" seeing his face stay like stone she fought to continue not wanting to share the bad news, but Dean hated lies"-Jessica's in the ICU. She's...they're working on it. She's... hurt. And- You've been out for almost 24 hours and.. there was-" Lisa's shoulders started to quiver.

Dean held her hand tighter, trying to lean up at the same time. "Jess?"

"The- uh-. The other FBI units are here," Lisa responded, gathering herself together and squaring her shoulders. Dean tried to smile and pull her into his chest. It was one of the reasons he'd fallen in love with her. Lisa's ability to put things in a back corner until she was at home (and for a year it was him she came home to) and deal with the facts.

"Units?"

"What do you remember?"

"Me.. me and, fuck. Victor were driving and- Sam-" his breath hitched and she shushed him, assuring him again that his brother was okay. He took a deep breath. "There... we pulled up and there was a bomb or something that went off and... it flipped the car, oh fuck. Victor, we fell on the side."

Lisa held him tighter, "They told me not to give you any shocks."

He sat up as well as he could, eying his heart monitor. "I'm okay." She gave him a dubious look. "Really, I'm okay."

"Victor died on impact."

Dean's monitor skipped a beat for a half second before continuing a steady pace. "Oh."

Lisa started to tear up a little again and wrapped him in her arms, letting her arm sit awkwardly as she navigated them through the hospital drips. Dean let himself be held as he stared at the blank, white wall in front of him. Not even a BS 'it gets better' cat poster was hung on the wall. So his imagination played across the blank screen. Victor.. he was... the best damn, fuck... best damn... they'd played for the driver's seat- he would be dead if- … He squeezed his functioning around Lisa's shoulder and bumped his head against hers just as the door slid open.

"It this a bad time?"

They slide apart slowly, and every as they both were moving away she kept a protective arm on him.

Dean gathered in the person in front of him. Judging by the uniform and the badge clipped to the suit lapel he was an official. As the man walked a little further in he saw the letters 'F, B, and I' spread across the top with his picture included and 'B, A, U,' underneath it. Fuck. Shit had to have gone to the worst levels of hell for Behavioral Analysis to be called in. He didn't know much about them other than that they dealt in psycho's.

Despite the trauma he couldn't help but have the back part of his brain appreciate the messy dark hair and piercing blue yes that focused on him, asking for permission. He held his shoulders with a goal behind them. There was nothing like ambition and a job to do that made Dean's engines rev. The man's tie was askew and the face he had wasn't half bad either, despite holding bad news behind the polite smile. He'd seen the expression enough in the mirror when he had to go tell parents their kids were dead.

"Dean Winchester?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Castiel Novak. I'm with the BAU and we've been asked to work the case at the FBI attack."

"BAU... right, yeah."

"I need to ask some questions, if you're coherent for it. In private, please," he looked at Lisa, "we're asking everyone in the office and you're one of the first to wake."

Dean glanced at Lisa and gave her his most charming smile. "Go, we'll be good. I'll see ya'll later." Lisa gave him a kiss on the cheek and gave a polite smile towards Castiel before existing. Cas closed the blinds and stepped forward.

"Your wife?" he asked, trying to break the ice, which we was bad at.

Dean laughed and shook his head, "No, but might as well be."

Castiel attempted a smile and sat down int the chair Lisa had been in. " I need to ask you some questions about what you saw."

"What I saw?" Dean laughed bitterly. "I drove in expecting to get some info on something stupid and then-fuck- me and my partner- god damn," he slammed his fist against his thigh, thinking of Victor. He told himself he wouldn't have been as emotional if it hadn't been for the meds in his system. "We fought for fuckin' driver rights and- did... what the hell happened, did he die because-?"

Castiel took a deep breath and put himself into Dean's vision so that he couldn't escape him. "You're an agent. I understand that you've gone through the emotional training to get the job but this _is _personal, I understand if you can't answer these questions. Should I call someone to oversee the questioning and asses your recollection or do you feel subjective enough to answer on your own?"

"Work is work, trust me. The faster we get whoever the fucker was that did this shit the more emotionally healthy I'll be. Don't beat around the bush. What do you need to know? I can stop throwing a tantrum"

Castiels' lip quirked a little and he pulled out his notepad. "The explosion, by time line, happened just as you were pulling in according to the records provided by your office car. You seemed to be trying to find a parking space. What do you recall?"

Dean closed his eyes and tried to find his center. He was a damn agent for fuck's sake, he shouldn't be breaking down right now. He swallowed thickly and almost choked on his own spit. "We- like I said played for driver's rights. I won- Sam always used to say my weakness was scissors but I won this time-" Dean took in a deep breath "- so I drove. And there was just... out of nowhere- Fuck."

"It's okay. Take your time."

"Don't tell me it's fucking okay and take your time. I'm not a damn victim and people are dead. I've given that same fucking speech before."

"My apologies."

Dean snorted but settled back into his pillow. "We drove up, and then it happened. All I remember is being... head heavy, after. Like I was swimming and couldn't see a damn thing, and Vic's head bleeding into the side door and- fuck-" he took in a deep breath "- and I hit the emergency button on instinct and-"

"It's okay if you can't go further."

"No, that's not it. I just don't know what else you want, I didn't see much other than the blast."

"I can come back later-"

"No, seriously dude, I'm not some civilian or first time rookie. I've been to the hospital before and I've done this before."

Castiel took in a deep breath, "We believe this may had have specific intent behind it, not a random attack and we were wondering if as you pulled in you noticed someone out of the ordinary or something?"

"Well fu-"

The door drew open suddenly, Sam's large frame filling up most of the space. "Dean!"

Castiel stood up, watching the silent exchange and Sam's blush at having interrupted an interview. "I will leave you two alone for now. I can come back later." He moved past Sam and closed the door behind him as the puffy-eyed newcomer rushed to the bed.

**A/N: **Obviously I'm taking the FBI building layout from the map view, there's no way they would publish a blue print of the building online.

Also I have to mention that there are different ways of dealing with trauma. Just because Lisa and Mary were the comp. Type doesn't mean that breaking down isn't just as brave. Both are strong as hell. It takes a damn amount of strength to let yourself be open enough to break down and bawl just as it takes strength to hold it in until you're in private. The word 'shame' does not exists in the grieving process.

**If you're interested in getting into the FBI; **US only of course. I wanted to be an agent for a long time and get into law enforcement. No matter what age you are you have to go through the FBI academy. While the FBI does employ disabled people you **CAN NOT **be a field agent without passing the physical requirements. I filled out my entire application back when I was starting my Freshman year of high school and I got to the physical requirements half and you can still join, but if you have any sort of muscle condition, weak something rather, you can't be a field agent. If you have any questions I can tell you what I went through trying to become a part of the FBI. +1 harder if you're not native born (I'm not, and my mother is from Egypt).

Another small note on the officer cars, they send live feeds and pings to an office of their location at any time. If you want me to go into the technicality just tell me and I will.


	3. Love Letters

**A/N: **Ya'll keep your fingers crossed for my mom. She went to the hospital for some surgery, it should be basic but can't hurt to keep her in your thoughts anyway.

Also, here's a new chapter just in case the new episode tonight sucks or the preview for 8x17 makes us all cry.

**Chapter 3: Love Letters **

Dean's eyes trailed after the agent, Castiel his name was, as he politely ducked out of the room with a nod towards Sam in greeting.

"You're staring," Sam commented, with a raised eyebrow as Dean's gaze held at the door

"Hey I just had a near-death experience, I think I'm allowed to indulge a little," Dean countered and immediately wished he could take it back. His brother's face dropped a mile and he was suddenly reminded of the very serious situation they were in. "So-uh"

"Jess didn't make it."

A heavy silence swept into the room, taking Dean's ability to breathe with it.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"Any luck?" Castiel asked as he turned down the hallway and gave Ellen a rueful smile. "Most of them are out cold or well on their way to not making it through the next 24 hours."

"Most?"

"I've found one agent, Dean Winchester. It appears that his car was rounding across the front, right as the blast set off. Charlie's working on getting any camera footage from the built in rig in the car of the blast. We're hoping it was running at the time. He's preoccupied at the moment with his family. I figured I could give them a minute."

"Well isn't that sweet of you," Ellen remarked with a teasing smile before her expression grew somber. "That actually works out for now. We've got some new information coming in, Bobby and Pam are still at the scene, they just went in for their own tour of the building, they're doing a second tour again after conferencing. We're hoping to get that done within the hour and then go back to the office they set up. We're making camp at Hefner, it's about 4 minutes away so we should have plenty of access."

"That's good, is there still a vacated room left for us to use for conference?"

Ellen smiled and beckoned him along, giving a warm hello to the nurse who was letting them use the office. She sat down and pulled her chair forward, tapping a button on the keyboard. "I found him."

"_Good, and sir you may want to sit down for this too?_" Charlie suggested casually, not truly concerned. If anyone could handle some unexpected turns it was him.

"I think I'll be all right," he responded, pausing and adding a "thank you," as an after thought; only vaguely remembering that you should thank people for being concerned over your well being. He never had been the best at social small talk and etiquette. It was a miracle that he was so good at his job with still not quite grasping most of the social niceties.

"So most of the parts still haven't been found but we did find something interesting," Pamela said sliding into view on the second screen, taking off her FBI vest. She reached out her hands as Bobby handed her a mug of hot coffee. "Thanks."

"I'm listening."

"Well, we've found traces of Mercuryfulminate, Silverfulminat, and Nitroglycerin. And don't ask me how it survived but the blast didn't completely burn off the plastic and the metal sleeve from a ballpoint pen, they're guessing. They found traces of that manilla folder wrapping that we send all the papers packaged in, although none of the actual paper has survived. They're scanning the scene if they can find melted plastic anywhere from straws or something. "

"I highly doubt they'll find more than that. I'm shocked so much has survived. Even so, a letter bomb? That seems way too simple. They usually have a smaller radius of damage and many don't even cause fatalities" Cas mused out loud, feeling his nerves start to tick. If it was a letter bomb as the initiating blast and it had spread like this then...

"It's also starting to look more and more like someone on the inside let it slip on purpose, or several people or hell they could've assembled it in the office," Pamella commented.

"I'm liking this less and less," Ellen commented.

"You'd be crazy to like it," Bobby said gruffly.

"And we're sure about some of the other rigs? At this point there'd have to be," Ellen asked, chewing on her thumb.

"Yeah, small, explosives seem to have been lined along certain corridors. They've so far found two types, one that's a powder smoke explosive to really light some fires up, and the others appear to have had oil compartments to cause the spread of fire. The explosion that brought down our building seem to actually have been because it reached the gas tanks and the electrical room."

Cas almost let himself groan, and finally did sit down. "I'm thinking it might be the same thing," Bobby said, watching Cas and knowing why he was groaning.

"I'd rather not even think about that option," Cas mumbled but straightened himself. "Have any other pieces of the signature presented themselves?"

"We're finding the fragments of the bombs first, and this also means we have to canvas twice over every single person that could've been in the building and actually was," Pamela said.

"It's been ten years since the last time this happened last, that's a hell of a cooling off period," Ellen pointed, trying to steer them away from the one thing they were hoping it wouldn't be.

"_Well, the guys involved don't exactly function that way,_" Charlie said, sending them all copies of the initial reports on the type of bombs involved and cross-referencing them to their old cases.

"That's true, not every day you can get a high organized criminal group that's filled with psychopaths, on all high ranking levels, and it not fall apart on itself. They've been in hiding for years now."

"Let's not expand on the theory too much yet. We don't want to see the evidence pile up in the wrong direction," Bobby said sighing on the other side of the screen. "But it was worth an update."

"Yes, it was. Thank you Singer. How much progress have you gotten finished?" Castiel asked.

"We're about to clear for the night, sun's about to go down and none of us are qualified to go running around in a crumbling building in the dark," Bobby responded, "we'll leave that to Swat and Bomb Squad."

"Of course. I'll go see if I can get a little more information from one of the only coherent survivors and then Harvelle and I will be heading to the police station."

"Don't strain your bedside manner too much," Pamela teased before logging the center at the field office off. He dismissed Charlie as well and leaned back in the chair a little.

"It could be a copy cat," Ellen pointed out, standing up.

"Let's pray it is."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"Sam I'm so so-"

"Don't say it," Sam snapped quickly, in a hushed voice. His shoulders sank and he flexed his fist closed and open. "I know you mean well but... I just can't right now. I don't." He took in a deep, shuddering breath, his large shoulders shaking and tears welling up in his eyes. He bit his lip and drew himself together, looking away from his brother. "I don't want to talk about it."

Dean let his head drop against the pillow and wanted to sink into it and disappear Just when things couldn't get worse. He had figured, he'd hoped, that at least something... "How bad is it out there?"

Sam gave a lopsided smile in thank you to his brother. If anything, Sam was still in a bit of shock and even if he wasn't, if he wanted to make it home in one piece he couldn't talk about it. He'd have to talk about business; something that he could deal with and be productive with. After the the surgeon had walked up to him, hands bloody, he'd sat at one of the chairs outside of the ICU and aimlessly filled out a crossword in the back of the magazine while he figured out how to put blood back into his legs. He'd barged into his brother's room shortly after. "You want me to turn the news on?"

Dean gave a short laugh, that came out more like a huff. "That's okay. I'm sure I'm about to get my fill of it whether I like it or not."

"What happens now?"

"Man... I have no clue," Dean responded, running his functioning hand over his face. "Haven't heard from the station yet, sent a request for someone to get back to me, well, other than that Novak guy."

Sam gave a small smirk, pushing back the haunted look in his eyes. It was easy to cling to something familiar and teasing his brother always gave him an out. "We're at a time of national crisis and you still find time to think with your dick."

Dean didn't even try and argue that what his brother hadn't the brief once over he'd given before he left the room. He'd tell himself next time not to let his gaze linger. "I can multitask," he argued petulantly.

They fell into silence.

Sam fidgeting and looking around the room while Dean swallowed the spit that was gathering in his mouth, and stared up at the ceiling. There was really very little to say. They could keep joking, but there was only so much effort left for that. Dean could try and offer his condolences again, tell Sammy to head on home and to drown himself in a bottle of jack. He could even have the Gentleman's Jack.

Before the awful feelings could settle wholly over them a nurse knocked on the glass and stepped in.

"Excuse me, Dean Winchester? It's time for your medication."

"Don't need any meds," Dean countered, raising himself to sit up higher in his bed. He was fine and he sure as hell didn't want pain killers or morphine to make him dizzy when he had shit to focus on.

"Don't be stubborn," Sam told him, moving out of the way for her.

"Speaking of stubborn," Dean grumbled with a glance at him, "I need a phone. Or get to talking to Rufus- hold on wait, is he?-"

"He's fine. Pissier than a hive of bees rolling down a hill, but fine."

"-Good. I need to talk to him."

"Why?" Sam asked skeptically.

"I want to know when I can get back on the streets working. Also-" he turned to look at the nurse "-find out how long until I'm out of this place." He said it a little harsher than he'd intended to and she frowned at him. Dean almost apologized until Sam spoke up.

"What? Dean, you just woke up."

"And ready to get out of this damn gown."

"Sir, please. Settle down, we need to give you the medication. At the very least the dose of anti-inflammatory-"

"I said I didn't want the damn pills."

"Dean, she's only doing her job, stop being a dick," Sam grumbled, walking over to the nurse and taking the tray from her. "I've got this."

The nurse gave him a dubious look but Sam put on his best smile, even if it wavered at corners (it'd been a long day). She left with a warning that she would come check on him in a little bit.

"Whatever," Dean said with a huff, settling himself back into the bed, "I'm gonna toss those in the plant in the corner and if you don't get me someone I'm going to rip out my IV's and go chase down someone myself."

"Dean-"

Dean sighed. Usually he would've fought, but he was harshly reminded by the tone in his brother's voice that Lisa and Ben weren't the only ones who'd been at his bedside once too often. And that he had been practically comatose, he was injured, and people had died. Jess had died. "At least see if you can go chase down that agent. Novak or whatever. I never got done answering his questions. I won't go anywhere."

Sam gave him a grateful half smile and put a hand on his shoulder before stepping out. Dean listened to his footsteps echo down the hallway before dropping his head violently into the pillow.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Sam let his face drop a little as he left his brother's room. He couldn't wait to get home, or something, anything.

But, if he was going to be honest with himself more than likely he was going to pull two chairs together in Dean's hospital room and pass out about as well as he could. If anything going back to the apartment seemed like the worst idea. He knew if Dean wasn't stuck in the hospital, they would've driven home and then Dean would've made sure Sam got spectacularly drunk. But alone...He wasn't sure if he could even make it past the hallway, where he'd pinned one of his favorite pictures of them(so that until they could live together again she was always there to greet him when he got home).

His heart clenched uncomfortably and he felt the itch to throw himself into a wall. 'Focus Sam, focus,' he told himself as he squared his shoulders. He could do this later; right now, he just had to put one foot in front of the other. Just one step forward at a time. Ask around the hospital. Find the agent. He paused only once, realizing that he'd almost forgotten the agent's name. He walked up to the front desk reception and as a nurse held up one finger to him, on the phone he smiled and nodded in understanding.

It turned out he didn't even have to look very half as loud steps came from behind him followed by a rough voice. "Sam Winchester?"

Sam turned around, a little surprised. He recovered from it pretty quickly and held out his hand. "Ah yes, yes sir. Agent Novak right?"

"That would be correct," he said and a small twitch of his lip was all he gave Sam in an attempted smile, a little warmth gathering in the eyes before it was swept away to business. "I heard about your loss. I am sorry." Sam seemed confused. "For both the agent as well as Miss Moore."

Sam's throat seemed to catch but he worked past it. They finished shaking hands and Sam nodded, eyes drifting out to the side. "Yeah, thanks."

"I understand that this a time of grief for you..."

"We're all grieving," Sam interjected at the pause, looking around the bustling emergency room.

Agent Novak gave him a head dip, his shoulders collecting as he took a deep breath, scanning the room as well. "That we are... if you have the time, I have a colleague, Agent Harvelle who would like to ask you some brief questions as well about your whereabouts at the time of the explosion."

Sam nodded, squaring his shoulders with purpose. This he could do. This was easy. "Of course. Anything...and, oh. And my brother's ready to see you. He asked me to come see where you were."

"Excellent," Castiel replied glancing around the corridor and then waving his hand at a woman.

"I'm going to apologize for my brother beforehand," Sam said just as the agent was leaving. "He can be a pain in th-... difficult," he corrected, remembering that he was speaking to an officer.

"I'm sure I will be fine, he was charming enough when I went in originally."

Sam might have chuckled if it had been any other day, instead he let himself sink into the weariness he felt in his bones and shook his head, "I may have riled him up a bit. Good luck."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

There's a knock the glass and Dean almost prepared himself to tell another nurse to shove off, he'd taken the damn meds, but relaxed at the sight of the eye-catching agent. He gave his best smirk and noticed the agent's eyebrow twitch upwards. "Mr. Winchester."

"Dean."

The agent shook his head, "Dean. Your brother said you were ready for some more questions."

"At your service, Agent Novak."

Castiel nodded seriously and approached the bed, remaining standing. Usually he would sit in the chair so that he wasn't looming over the people he was questioning, but he had to admit, he had not been lying to the brother when he'd said that Dean was charming. Or rather, he had a very casual and comforting aura about him. Dean Winchester was a man who obviously tried hard and cared about the people around him with the same amount of dedication he held for his work. And despite the curse words (and Cas speculative assumed promiscuity and large alcohol consumption), glowed with the passion. "We have reason to believe, although not beyond a reasonable doubt yet, that the only way that this explosion could've happened... is for lack of easier terminology an inside job."

Dean's heart skipped a beat and it felt like it sank into his belly, as a cold chill crept up his back. Someone from _his _field office? Someone he worked with? No.

He stared at his blanket where his other hand was finally responding, which he'd noticed only because it was clenched tightly into his thigh. "No." The agent gave him a stern, but heavily apologetic look in response. "How do you know?"

"I can't discuss too many details, as we are still gathering information. But the bombs somehow got past all of the detectors. We may have found smaller chargers littering the corridors and those would have had to be assembled inside the building."

The information was moving sluggishly through Dean's mind, refusing to be processed. It wasn't as if inside jobs and corruptions were a foreign concept to him. Hell the amount of people he'd caught in local police stations alone in the pockets of drug leaders and gangs. They even had tabs on two active offenders that they weren't outing, to milk as much information out of the situation as they could while minimizing loss. But this?

"I'm gonna kill 'em," Dean muttered vehemently, "they killed Jessica and Victor and-"

Before Dean could rant more the agent paused him, "We're also working with the assumption that the first explosion was a letter bomb. Thus hand delivered. Our analyst is compiling video footage right now. Once we find the origination of the package we'll be able to gather more information."

Dean swallowed thickly and let his hands unclench, turning a stony expression towards him. "How can I help?"

"Do you know anyone who'd been acting different this past week, or month even?"

Dean shook his head, "Not really. I mean JB got pissed at a printer and nearly threw it out the window but that's usual. I mean... shit, a lot of people are usually aggravated around here. Oklahoma City can do that sometimes."

Agent Novak nodded, "Think any type of different. Someone who is usually anxious, and then suddenly calm and collected too. Major changes in behavior routines. We are speculating that there are more than one person involved and with the network we're suspecting outside we're looking for several different personality types."

A small silence followed the explanation as Dean leaned back into his pillow. Scrunching his eyes tightly he tried to envision the past few weeks. He mentally went through every person he knew, the people he said hi to on the way up the elevator, the people he parked next to... Who usually grouped together for lunch, shift changes. He let out a frustrated sigh and heard the agent say "take your time" and he tried to relax. How the hell was he supposed to remember all this? As if his brain wasn't scrambled enough it's not like this was shit he paid attention to usually. Exasperated, he opened his eyes, "I dunno man. I really don't."

Castiel nodded, "Let me try another question. Did you notice anyone lingering around especially around the corridors in the entry way, around the entrance to the mail room, or leading to the electrical rooms?"

"Other than the janitors and staff? I mean, we did bring in someone in briefly when a fuse blew and half the lights popped," his heart hammered a little as he pulled together the memory, "could it have been-?" That'd be perfect, not like they'd question half the wires and shit the guy brought in to fix the fuzes and look over their wiring. But his equipment would still have to get checked.

"Very good Mr-... Dean. About how long ago was this?"

Dean made a few thoughtful noises, mentally flipping the beer model calendar he had sitting on his desk. "Like four weeks ago? Five maybe? I don't remember. I just... something I noticed in passing 'cause Jannice from the reception was bitching about it." He wanted to smirk a bit at just how he'd found out that information, but felt that if nothing else it was a little unprofessional and not only TMI.

"Anyone else you can think of? Any other area?"

"Fuck man-" he winced a bit at the curse but relaxed when the agent didn't seem bothered by it. He was more coherent and less at the same time (as the medicine did it's job) now and in hindsight realized he'd probably let a few f-bombs fly when he'd first woken up. "I'm not sure I can think of much else right now. Just the usual people, I mean me and Victor left a bit early from our break because we had information on a case but that's about it."

"That's all right Dean. We'll be in the area for awhile longer, I can come back another day or another agent will be sent around to make rounds."

Dean would forever blame the morphine in the drip ,and other pills that he'd finally agreed into taking, kicking in as he put on another one of his charming smiles. "I dunno man. I'm kinda partial to you. You really get the juices flowing-" -fuck- "you know, remembering things."

Even though it felt like his heart had stopped, the steady beeping from the monitor assured him it only felt like it had. To his great relief the agent looked like he was going to laugh before shaking his head, and Dean could've sworn there was twinkling in his eyes. "Thank you Mr. Winchester, next time I'll make sure to have someone come take that statement down when I have my next performance review."

With that he stepped out and Dean was left wondering what the hell had just happened. It wasn't the first time he'd flirted in the hospital or on the job. Hell, he could probably give you the names and bra size of at least five staff members at the few hospitals he'd been carted to, and the exact brand of Cologne an emergency responder or two wore. He just didn't think he'd ever sounded so retarded before. He blamed the nerves and the meds Sam had forced him to take.

Or just Sam.

Yeah, Sam.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Dean doesn't exactly get released from the hospital.

More like he caused enough of a fuss and a scene that while he hadn't healed up yet and he had a ton of medication and creams and he had better keep an eye on his stitches; they were all relieved to see him go.

Lisa and Ben visited him a few more times during the week that he had been stuck there after the accident, with no news from the agents or re-visits. It was a shame. He had been really hoping for one, if not just to get a chance to flirt with Agent Novak again, and then of course to figure out what the hell was happening. But, as he had been told by Rufus, who had finally dropped by his hospital room; no one from their division was allowed on the case and unless the officials required information directly from an agent. They were to be kept in the dark since it was almost without reasonable doubt proven to be an inside job. Other than that, Dean didn't know squat.

At least he had been released in time to join his brother at Jessica's funeral. He would've dragged the damn drip behind him, in his little hospital gown if they'd had even tried to make him miss it.

It always shocked him how quickly funerals were organized. Most happened within a week from time of death. It hardly seemed like a proper amount of time to go from 'fuck they're dead' to 'there they are in the ground'. He'd once brought it up to one of his favorite morticians who'd simply responded: 'Where would we keep them all if every one waited until they were comfortable burying them?' Dean had begrudgingly accepted that as a reason, but only because it had come from her.

Accordingly, the sun was high in the sky and the weather was even a little warm for it only being a few months into the new year, on the day of Jessica's funeral. 'Of course the sun would be out,' Jess' mother had brokenly laughed. 'Because she was just that type of warm person, watching over everyone, even at her passing. Telling them she was okay.'

He'd kept a stoic face, mentally going over every single funeral he'd been at. It was hard not to. He'd been told by a preacher at one service that if your mind wanders to another loved one you've lost, that there was no shame in it. You were in God's house and moving past the grief was kind of the point. The preacher had of course said it more poignantly than Dean could remember it, but it stuck with him every time he found himself thinking of someone else and they gathered around a coffin and placed roses on it.

Sam had put down a daisy and bit his lip. It stood out amongst the sea of red, bright, and a few people gave it odd looks. They weren't saying anything to be polite but there'd be gossip about it later... but as Sam had explained in the car ride there, Jessica had always thought roses were lame.

It was at least a small relief that they were getting _paid _, forced leave. Sam included since he had worked at the field office, and in light of his loss a few people up the chain of command had taken pity on their little family. It wasn't much but enough for them not to have to worry about much other than sitting in their apartment drinking and in general being miserable.

Dean tried to make sure that the news was never on when Sam was around, _when_ he was around. He would wander around the kitchen and living room area aimlessly, every so often before disappearing into his room where he spent most of his time. Once or twice, Dean had caught him leaving the apartment and coming home smelling like a less than savory dive bar. He'd acknowledge Dean with a tilt of his head and then crawl back into his room.

But when Sam wasn't around, it was all that Dean had playing. Obsessed with any new bit of information and even going to the point of DVRing some of the longer news programs on the bombing. They were keeping most of the information on lock down, and while he knew the media had eyes everywhere and ears practically superglued to information channels and chatter, he wasn't surprised that there wasn't as much information going around. He'd started lazily trying to gather up his own details. What he could remember as well as other information, but was so far coming up with nothing.

He wasn't even going to be allowed on active duty for another 2 months. It would take that long to clear at least every staff member to work in the building. Some would have to wait longer because of the construction on the field location but if you didn't mind dealing with the loud banging and the noises you were welcome to come back.

On one of the longer nights, with a full bottle of Jim Beam for company, his phone rang.

He stared at it confused, wondering who the hell would be calling him. Anyone in the area would've just called his cellphone or come to the door, and he highly doubted Sam had been running around giving out their landline.

He picked up the phone, confused. "Hello?"

"_Winchester residence?_"

"Uh yes, Dean Winchester here," he replied, sitting up on the couch confused. He thought he recognized that voice.

"_Hello, Dean._"

Shit. He did. "Agent Novak," he replied, slipping back onto the couch comfortably, bringing the lip of the bottle to his mouth and letting some of it roll into his mouth. He let his tongue play with it for a little before swallowing. "What can I do for you? I noticed you never came to visit." If he'd had a third hand free he might've smacked himself with it. He just couldn't help but start flirting with him.

"_I'm afraid we had a bomber to catch,_" came the response from the other end and Dean almost thought he was being chastised, but the agent continued. "_Otherwise I would've loved to have spent another few hours with my legs going numb in your hospital room._"

"You could've sat," Dean counters.

"_Valid argument._"

There's silence on the other line and Dean took it as his que, "Joking aside, what can I do for you."

"_I heard you'd been released from the hospital_."

"Yeah about two weeks ago."

"_Congratulations._"

"Not so much, they won't let me back in the office for another two months."

"_Understandable... Speaking of which, I have a question for you._"

Dean perked up a little. "Shoot."

"_Does the name Azazel mean anything to you?_"

Dean frowned but sat up on the couch, putting the bottle down on the coffee table and focusing. "No, should it?"

"_He's connected, somehow, to the bombings, or his people at least. He's been off our radar for awhile but his MO has always been to target buildings and institutions. That or civilians and others that he has a personal interest in for whatever reason, and the signature of their people was at the crime scene. We're asking that everyone canvas their lives to see if the name has been mentioned and we may be one step closer to closing this case._"

"Wait, but if he's been gone, why now? Why us?"

"_Excellent questions Dean, ones that I'm afraid I can't answer at this time. If you do find something, we've been told that Rufus Turner is point on this at your location._"

Dean wanted to argue about getting more details but let it drop momentarily. "All right, can do..." he paused, "hey, why the personal call? I could've gotten an office letter or another call about this. Isn't this unorthodox?"

He could've sworn he heard a smirk on the other line. "_My apologies for not visiting you at the hospital before our departure, Dean. Good evening, Mr. Winchester._"

The line cut off and Dean was left staring at it. Strange laughter rippled out of him and he leaned both of his forearms on his knees. It felt good to laugh. He sobered up quickly, well, figuratively as he was still nursing the bottle, and hopped onto the computer, carefully typing in the name Azazel.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Can hung up the phone and leaned back in his office chair. He looked out of the blinds at the rest of the team gathering up to go home for the night. He waved a lazy hand goodbye to Jo, who had come to pick her mom up for a late dinner in celebration of her marksmanship scores. Her mother was protesting her even toying with the notion of going into the line of work, but couldn't argue that her daughter needed to know how to fire a gun properly. She smiled brightly at him as they left and let the blinds fall shut into the office. He looked at the massive pile of papers and boxes he'd pulled out of storage and poured himself a small glass of scotch.

There was a knock on his door and he looked up. Everyone should've left by now, it was after-hours, otherwise he wouldn't have helped himself to a few fingers of Johnnie Walker. There was a pause before the door opened, and Bobby stepped in. They shared a tired expression before Cas pushed his chair back and pulled out a glass for him, letting Bobby pour himself his own glass. They sat in silence for a little as Cas went over the papers in front of him and Bobby picked himself up a few.

"Working too much is going to suck all the fun out of your life," Bobby remarked as he popped open a manilla folder.

"You're here after hours yourself," Castiel replied, feeling a bit of a twitch of amusement at the corner of his lip.

Bobby gave a gruff laugh and shook his head, "Like I'm letting you go through this mess alone, boy. You know if it's Azazel and his ilk then we're about to have more mess on our hands than even you, wonderboy, can't handle on your own."

Cas nodded in admission.

Bobby was right, he was glad to have help, especially from someone who knew some of the fine details that the others weren't privy to...that no one was privy to. Singer was just a hard mind to slip anything by, and he had his connections. Although Cas often spoke as a figure head, the team was unofficially officially Bobby's and they all looked to him. Hell, he'd been the one to bring Cas in and after the death of their last Supervisory Agent and in the past two years nudged a reluctant Cas into the position. He was good at the work and dealing with the bureaucracy. Bobby had joked at first that if he didn't know Cas was on the team he'd peg him to be one of the office stiffs.

"Lucifer's still in lock-down," Cas said out loud, more to say to himself than anything.

"I figure we'd have heard about it if he wasn't," Bobby said with a hint of sarcasm but then continued,"I checked, first thing I did when we found out that the bomb got set off Lucy's ten year arrest anniversary. Bastard's still making friggin' origami figurines. They gave him access to paper for good behavior." He paused, "No offense of course."

"You can call him a bastard all you like, just because we share the same mother doesn't mean that the insult can't be used in a looser sense." Cas sighed and set down his papers, rubbing his fingers across the bridge of his nose, "For all I know he even could have been."

"Could explain the whole being a psychopath thing."

Cas almost laughed, taking a sip of his scotch. "You know enough about the family I come from that it's not exactly a virtuous line of people."

"Well we got a damn fine agent out of it," Bobby said, noticing that Cas was about to head into a territory of self-loathing he only got from having to remember where he was from. Despite having served his time in the military on an ally side and being raised in England; his family's legacy and past had trailed behind him until he had to be put into a protection program. It really had been a miracle that Bobby had found out at all about the familial relation.

Cas gave a lopsided smile and raised his glass, "Za vas."

"Za vas," Bobby replied as they each took a small swig of their scotch.

They finished their drinks in silence, shuffling through papers. After awhile Bobby set down his glass and grabbed his jacket, standing up. "You know I respect you and you'll always have my confidentially. But if this is Azazel, and they've come back after ten years" he shrugged into his jacket, leveling Cas with a meaningful look. "I don't know how long it'll be before they find out. And no amount of international witness protection or under cover work, whatever it is that you're doing, or burnt identities are going to help you out once it comes out."

Cas smiled ruefully but nodded. Bobby knew some, but had thankfully never pried about his full identity, only ever made casual speculations and he was thankful for it. "It shouldn't come out. The person Lucifer's related to is dead."

Bobby gave a small amused chuckle, "For a dead man I hear he's doing pretty well. Don't stay up too late."

"Thank you, Bobby."

The door to his office shut and Cas leaned back in his chair. It was true that somehow Bobby had sussed out that there was a family relation between them and by proxy figured out that his family was of course Lucifer's, it was kind of an obvious deduction. It wasn't one that the rest of his team was aware of and he intended to keep it that way. He understood why Bobby was concerned but the rabbit hole went far deeper than that. And as Castiel packed up his belongings for the night he prayed he wouldn't have to jump down it.

He didn't want another identity to burn.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

A figure huddled over a work table, a cigarette in his mouth, one finger tapping the table. He flicked his zippo closed and shut as he inspected his work. Pulling out bits and cords of fishing line to tie the straws together, otherwise it wouldn't detonate, footage of the bombing playing on repeat in the background as Burning Up by Seasick Steve blared across the speakers set up in the corner. He smiled as he inspected his work and watched out of the corner of his eye as the explosion was replayed.

It was going to be a good year.

**A/N: **DUN DUN DUUN. I'm kidding. Sorry this chapter was so long. I'll try and make 'em shorter. It kinda got away from me.

**Review please! It gives me courage to continue. **

Also; the small bits I've mentioned are actually how you make a letter bomb, scary easy but by itself usually doesn't obliterate you. And if you're making kind of a tilty-face at Cas and Lucifer, well, they are canon related, so they'll be related here and just because he's on the good guys side doesn't mean he can't have bad family. And since demons are villains in the original series, and Lucifer created them, etc. etc. etc.


	4. Apple Pie Life

**A/N: **And the plot thickens. I've got spring break coming up, and honestly no clue what that will do to updates. You can ask me questions on here or on my work tumblr, goodquestionharlie, if you get confused. (There will be a full answer section and a bibliography when I'm done but for the ride.) Hopefully I've still got some of you interested!

**Chapter 4: Apple Pie Life**

After John had died, and things had settled down, they'd moved. They loved their old house; of course, and Sam had been dragged out of it kicking and screaming... but they simply couldn't afford it anymore. For a month or two they'd stayed with Missouri. Dean hadn't really appreciated how much she'd done for them until he had been older, but she'd been a blessing for their mother. For the first few weeks, while his mother laid in bed mourning with the blinds brawn, Missouri would get them ready for school. A healthy bowl of porridge (which Dean generally never ate) and a piece of toast. They took the bus to school. For the first few weeks Sam hadn't talked much either. He'd shut down. The worst part for both of them had to be going back to school. Dean was just grateful the bus route didn't take them by their old house, he couldn't handle seeing it.

About half a year passed; Sam started talking again and Mary got out of bed. Dean was eternally grateful for both and Missouri didn't even comment when he cried about it a little. Things started to get better, slowly but surely. Sam helped them with designs for the bakery they decided to invest in and Dean wasn't failing his classes too spectacularly. It was a goal that Missouri had helped Mary pick out while she worked around the clock. Something to look forward to.

The shop opened it's doors the day Sam started middle school. They moved into their new home the summer Dean entered his freshman year.

He could remember smiling for the first time in a long while, for himself, and not just because he had to make someone else smile. He'd been excited to be able to break away from the petty theft he'd been participating in. But then Dean had noticed bills piling up on Mary's desk. She hid them when she saw him looking. Of course that meant that he'd go searching for them.

They were still getting bills to pay off for the funeral. Dean almost puked when he saw the number of zero's, bill after bill.

Dean kept it to himself, but kept a close eye on his mother, and asked for more hours on the stupid paper route that he'd taken up in middle school. The little extra helped, at least to the point where he was paying for his own lunches and was tentatively saving up to restore the Impala. Since his father's death and the slow climb up it had been left neglected. Mary didn't drive it, and Dean was only now getting old enough to have a permit. The shop picked up again and Sam picked out where he wanted to go to school. Mary's face had dropped. Stanford was a little expensive, but they didn't tell him no.

Instead, Dean got a job at the grocery store. His grades started slipping but all he could think of was how to make sure Sam got in. He already had a head start since he attended the private branch of their school system. He'd have an amazing list of programs and recommendations to build from. Getting in wouldn't be the problem just paying for it.

Dean took a third job.

On the morning of one of his paper routes he drove by the garage that his father had worked in as a young kid before being sent off of the war. He'd slowed down and bit at his lip to chase away his pride to beg. The papers were left hanging on the bike as he stepped forward and damn near got on his hands and knees, asking for a job. His dad had taught him some basics growing up and he was a fast learner. A hard worker.

For the most part; even with the new jobs money was still tight. The shop especially didn't do as well during the winter months, other than for a few of their specialties (and Mary's pie's were always in season). The house they'd started making payments on hadn't been in the best shape originally either. The water heater burst and flooded most of their floors their first winter there. A really bad snow storm knocked their TV antenna off the roof, taking half of the shingling with it. And the icing on the cake was getting a notice from the city to move the Impala somewhere else, since it's stickers were outdated and was now considered sitting junk.

Other than the memories of a harsh winter, he didn't remember much of the year he fell in with his new _'friends'._ It had been surprisingly easy to do. Dean had long ago realized he couldn't even recall one of their names, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't even like he'd started hanging out with them on purpose. He'd already dipped into his savings a little. He had to start getting the Impala as fixed up as he could, at least good enough to get the inspection stickers. He also had to help his mom pay for the repairs on the house. Mary spent most of her free time at the shop trying to make ends meet, and Dean had even taken over making Sam breakfast. It actually turned out convenient with his new sticky fingers habit he'd learned. She wouldn't be around to question where he was getting all the stuff.

It was actually really freeing and helluv-alot easier than any of the other jobs he worked. He didn't dare quit the mechanical job but toyed with the idea of quitting the grocery store. Dean had stolen from them one too many times for them _not _to notice. His friends had instead suggested he just move up to other stores. Electronics. They were harder to get but fetched a pretty price. He honestly wasn't even comfortable with the idea until Mary's car broke down.

Dean quit high school and stole a DVD player that night with them.

Mary had protested and nearly cried, telling Dean he couldn't sacrifice his entire life like that. Dean had promised her to get a GED and told her he thought he was doing really well with the mechanic thing, maybe make a career.

Dean might've actually stayed a mechanic too if his _friends _hadn't gotten rowdy. Electronics here and there weren't enough. They got violent. They started drinking. Dean's first taste of beer was awful. His next 20 he couldn't get enough of. One night when he was hammered they'd encouraged him to mug someone. He did. They'd cheered, and then when Dean had backed off, jumped in and almost killed the guy. Shame-faced, he'd run away with the rest of them to avoid getting arrested. He should've at least gotten the guy to a hospital. Or called 911. Dean never saw him again and hoped at least the guy was all right.

He snapped and cut ties when they'd started approaching Sam at school and trying to follow Dean home. He decided to get his GED and join the police force when one of their mugshots popped up on the news, dead in a failed robbery. Sam never said anything, and Mary never knew, but it put fire in his belly. He actually followed through with his promise of schooling. The pathway to his officer career ran well oiled too because of his father's connections. Dean was even was lucky enough to be able to take a break from training to see Sam's graduation. He'd gotten a scholarship and Dean had, just in case, extra money lined in his pockets just in case things got sticky.

Their mother cried when Sam left for California and Dean promised to take care of their mom. She cried some more when Dean said he's been accepted into the FBI Academy.

For the most part Dean kept busy after that, but always made sure to call. When he could get the free moment to fly down and visit; he would. Life had been been going well for them. He had almost forgotten how badly his gut could clench up. Dean spent a few weeks with cold sweat running down his back from his last visit home. '_People' _there remembered his name, and they were none too happy about him forgetting about his "roots", or how much Dean had benefited from criminal behavior.

Half a year later, after Dean's graduation, the shop caught fire. Mary burned up in the foyer, on her way to run out the door.

Since then, Dean had made a habit of waking up clutching a bottle. Probably more often that his job should allow for.

It's how Dean wakes up now, lungs squeezing tightly, his body covered in sweat.

His heart hammered loudly and for a little bit he couldn't breathe. He hunched over, trying to relax his lungs into pulling open. He choked on a little bit of spit that gathered in his mouth and started heaving all over again. When the coughing subsided he ran a hand over his face and leaned back in the chair. To his luck he still had his fingers firmly wrapped around the neck of a bottle he'd been nursing. Dean craned his neck to try and get a look at the clock; it was almost mid-day. He thanked the gods for the blinds being closed and debated getting up.

First, he decided after running a tongue over his teeth, he had to get up and do something about the taste of ass in his mouth. On his way to the bathroom he noticed Sam's door open and peered inside. It looked like the bed hadn't even been touched. Dean huffed and felt a headache start brewing. He knew his brother wasn't dealing with Jess' death so well, hell, how could he be? But after giving it a month or so he'd really been hoping to see Sam passed out in bed more often, and not coming home at odd hours smelling like a dumpster. He brushed his teeth and then walked over to the fridge. Dean took a swig of orange juice without thinking and spendt a good minute trying to spit it all back out.

The fridge was mostly except for a package of bacon. "Might as well," he mumbled glancing at the clock, after rinsing his mouth clean. Maybe by some powers that be, if Dean started cooking hangover food his brother would stumble in through the door. He almost felt betrayed when it didn't work.

He ate at the computer, idly going through the files he fell asleep trying to dig through. He hadn't found much, at least not much that was open to him. He knew Azazel was related to some organized crime circuit with Lucifer at the head. Everyone had heard at least a little about Luci. It had almost given him a chuckle when he'd read a description that used the word mafia. Despite being in the Force and knowing it was a real issue, he couldn't get the image of Al Capone out of his head. Most of the reports listed things about fire starting, vandalism, and money laundering but he couldn't access any more files than that. Not the right clearance level. It had agitated him a little the night before. Why would Cas have given him that name if there wasn't anything he could do with it?

Dean stared idly at the screen, bacon crunching between his teeth. Thoughts of his nightmare came crawling back as he stared at the few crime scene photos he had access to. He had to physically shake himself out of it. There was no time for trauma and he knew if he let the frequency of his nightmares slip, they'd send him to a hand holding sit-in with their resident therapist. So naturally, out of curiosity, and trying to convince to himself he was fine, he typed in the information he knew about the case back in Lawrence.

He frowned when he noticed they were all locked.

Dean typed in the password and higher up codes so many times, that the system started yelling at him to call the main office to get his account activated again; apparently suspecting someone was trying to (really poorly) hack into the system. Irritated, Dean got up and attempted to phone someone, only to be told that because of the recent attack all requests had to be made in person.

He had to remind himself not to lash out at the woman operating at the front desk when he finally drove himself to the station. No one was allowed back on active duty for another month and he really hadn't wanted to make wasteful trips to the station before returning to active duty. Dean told himself it didn't mean anything that he deliberately drove around the area where Victor had smashed his head into the side window and bled out.

The woman frowned at him when he gave her a snarky thank you after receiving his clearance and had to remind himself to smile. She blushed and Dean counted it as a victory. If nothing else he still had game.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"Where the hell have you been?" were the first words out of Dean's mouth when he opened the door to their joint apartment.

"Where have _you_ been?" Sam countered back. Dean paused in the doorway, not expecting his brother to sound so harsh. He let the door slam closed and walked fully into the apartment, finding his brother at the computer.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked. He shouldn't have left the laptop open.

"Who's Azazel?"

"No one, just some guy. Work stuff."

"Dean, you're on leave for at least another month. I know they wouldn't be giving you new cases. Now who's Azazel? Does this guy have something to do with Jessica?"

"Would you just drop it! And go take a damn shower, you look like crap," Dean ground out, taking in his brother's haggard appearance.

"Don't lie to me, Dean," Sam said, getting up and swaying a little.

"Dude... are you drunk?"

"Yeah, so?" Sam shot back, seeming like he's gearing up for a fight.

"It's like 2pm. Don't you see something wrong with that?"

"You do it all the time."

"Yeah, and that's what worries me," Dean said stepping forward, holding both of his hands out like he's dealing with a skittish animal. "I'm the functioning alcoholic, remember?"

Sam's mouth drew into a thin like and he took in a deep breath, forming a rebuttal. He closed it and clenches his fists. "Who... is... Azazel?"

"Sam-"

"No, Dean, just," Sam let himself drop back onto the couch, giving his brother a pleading look. "They won't tell me anything."

Dean sighed and pulled up on the of the chairs, settling to where he was facing his brother. "Not like I'm getting much more info anyway. And look-man- it'll, we'll figure this shit out. Just go to bed, sleep it off. Eat something bad for you. And please take a damn shower." He tried to lean over and give a light, friendly punch to his brothers shoulder. Sam barely reacted and seemed to sink further into himself. The staring lasted for a minute before Sam forced himself up with a sigh. Dean watched him walk to his room and a few moments later when he could hear the shower running, he relaxed. He eyed the laptop, wondering if he had enough time to at least look up a few names before his brother stepped out. With a sigh he closed the laptop and tucked it away, sprawling out on their couch.

He was prepared to attempt a little heart to heart with Sam, after having poured himself a mid-day glass of whiskey. That was all shot to hell when his brother walked out, sparing him barely a glance and marching back out the door. Half of Dean's body was already clenching, ready to spring off the couch and rush after him. Instead, he let himself sink into the couch with a glower. He'd give Sam a few more hours before angrily calling him and dragging his ass back to the apartment.

Determined not to waste his time, he pulled the laptop back up and brought up the case file locations. When he'd copied all the information down he set to finding a source.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Bela Talbot did not end up being anything like Dean had expected her to be, or rather he hadn't expected her to be quite that much of a looker. Half of him was tempted to stand up and pull her chair out. Thankfully his other half informed him that would be retarded.

After finding no way to unlock the files by himself he'd done some personal snooping. It had taken a little around a week since he wasn't exactly tech savy to track her down. He sure as hell wasn't going to ask Sam about it. He was finally spending more time at the apartment again and Dean wasn't going to jinx that by asking for help on shit he knew his brother would figure out. So he'd outsourced. It had been hard as hell to track her down; jumping from article to article, and looking at her file on the network to figure out how to get in contact with her. She seemed to be very in the know on criminal activities and wrote some of the best articles around the circuit. Hell, sometimes she even managed to outfox the police officers on the case.

Dean had gotten interested when he found out she'd written a blurb on the Lawrence shop fire. It had been heavily edited and cut down, almost refusing to be published. Which meant there was something more to it. He hadn't even given his full name when he'd set up the appointment, just a promise for some easy money for information. Called it a job.

"Dean Winchester," she said, her mouth rolling around the vowels.

He also hadn't expected her to have an accent.

"Miss Talbot," he responded, his lip quirked, "I guess there was no reason to try and hide my last name."

"No, there really wasn't. And honestly, this fire you asked about, happened, what? Three or something years ago? I forget. You don't look that much different from then. Very easy to recognize," she smirked and then ordered herself a cup of coffee.

"Right," Dean responded, feeling awkward.

"Now, Mr. Winchester," she said leaning her elbows on the table, "what can I help you with?"

"I want to know what the rest of the article for the Lawrence shop fire said."

Bela's face seemed to shift in surprise but it didn't reach her eyes. Dean made a mental note of it but didn't give himself time to focus on it. She collected herself and tapped some of her fingers on the table. "I'm not sure I'm allowed to do that. I do believe it was censored for a reason."

Dean sighed and pulled out the few hundred bucks he'd promised for a satisfactory job. He slid them over to her and she smiled.

"The article said that that there was a _chance _it wasn't an accident. I can guarantee you it wasn't. The fire was set with purpose and orchestrated in a way that your mother had no chance for survival."

"Who set it? Was it-?"

Bela cut him off and accepted her cup of coffee from the waiter, "Those brats you hung out with? God no. Although I'm sure you either already know, or are happy to know that most of them are either in jail or dying of liver poisoning, jobless and homeless. I'd say you got the better half of the deal on that relationship." She toasted her cup of coffee.

"How do you know that?" Dean asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Bela shrugged her shoulders and ran an idle hand through her hair. Dean grumbled a curse and reached into his wallet, pulling out another hundred. Bela raised her eyebrow and Dean set out another one. "You're gonna have to do better than that. I'm good with information, Dean. Trust me when I say I know exactly how confidential this is. Top ranks."

By the time Bela reached over to grab the stack, Dean was out almost a grand total.

"It has something to do with your mother. She was the specific target, although why, I still could not tell you. I was locked out of the information channels when the feds cracked down. Oh yes, the feds-" she said with an amused tone at Dean's shocked look- "bet you didn't know that. They found rather low ranking members of some gang, you'll get a laugh out of this, loosely translated and commonly called; Demons." She gave him an entertained look and continued when Dean didn't react. This wasn't funny for him. "Fine fine, really depends on which faction or clique you're talking to. I'd venture to say they're bigger than MS-13. They're a little more organized, probably closer to the Mafia families, but MS-13 would be a good example to use. International, home-grown with Lucifer at the top."

"Lucifer?" Dean said leaning forward, nerves buzzing. He'd wanted a few answers for his own curiosity; not to shell out a grand and feel like his life had just been tossed upside down for funsies. "You're bull shitting. That guys in jail or whatever and he's the head of a-" he trailed off a little.

"You're catching up! I see you've already done some of your own research. Yes, the very same group."

"That's fuckin' stupid. 'Cause I got a call from the bureau, and Azazel is a part of, Demons or the devils or whatever the fuck they call themselves, and his MO showed up at the bombing-"

"_Very _clever, Dean. You know when I walked up, I really hadn't expected you to be this quick. Looked a bit more of the brawn and no brains type," she said setting her untouched coffee cup down. Bela glanced at her watch. "Your hour is up-" Dean started to protest "- I can promise you my information comes from... reliable sources. Now, I want you to go home and think about... common denominators."

She thanked him for the coffee. Before Dean could respond she had marched her way through the crowd and disappeared. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He'd already started to make the worst assumptions and was panicking. He couldn't handle this by himself. "I don't wanna be a common denominator."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"You look like hell,kid."

Castiel looked up at Ellen and gave her a 'look' as he accepted the steaming cup of coffee. She settled next to him in the conference room. He thought he'd covered the circles under his eyes better but he wasn't about to go slap on some make-up. It'd been months since they'd made any headway on the FBI bombing. They were stuck, and via their own suggestion, there was only one way to link things together. Back combing through anything with relations to Azazel. He'd been shocked when older cases had been opened and Charlie had sent him a file with Dean's name in it. It's why he'd called Dean and then spent the next few weeks, digging into it himself. It was a pity the files were locked, he was sure Dean would've liked to have seen them. Perhaps even been able to give them more information. He'd have to wait for an official interview once the OKC field office got back on its feet. With every new name that came out, they would have to go through and do interviews again. But, for now, they were being assigned back to regular cases and Charlie was still combing through new applicants to the BAU.

Other than the bombing headache, the incident had given him unpleasant memories that kept him awake. He was grateful when Bobby walked into the room, distracting Ellen and Pamela from him. They shared a brief look but he waved the concern off with a small shake of his head. He was fine, tired, and anxious, but fine.

Well, if you could call 'fine' being kept awake most nights by the expression on Lucifer's face, 'fine'.

He hadn't been involved in the arrest and hadn't even been consulted originally. At the time Lucifer's threat value was not high enough for people to have discovered his actually identity, and he hoped it would never come to that. As a part of the the BAU team he'd been later called in for consult. Even then Castiel never actually had any fact time with him. But, he had eventually, curiosity getting the better of him. He'd been there when they put him in the van to bring him to lock up. Castiel's body had attempted to turn itself inside out when they shared eye contact. His brother's eyes light up and he smirked, then winked at him, and gave a relieved sigh as he let himself be rough handled into the cell. That's when Bobby had gone digging.

After being confronted by Bobby he'd told most of the bits of truth. Bobby had made enough links together for himself, and from bits of files, that they were related. How, he didn't know, or how one of them ended up on the U.S. Wanted list while the other worked at one of the top branches of the American Justice System.

He'd explained about his mother and father moving away from Russia, taking only him with them. While it wasn't wide spread across the system, and few people had clearance to the information, Lucifer was from a family of organized crime background in Russia. A family that had been thriving well before the perestroika; with some influence of power traced back to before the fall of the Romanov's. He only knew most of these myths second hand.

Castiel had a large family, although he had never met most of the time. Meeting Lucifer , as he was being put away, was the first live memory he had of his older brother. For a man in his 50's he looked about the same age as Castiel. He was the one brother he never heard too many stories about, even growing up. He'd been told of course that he had siblings; Mikhail (the eldest), Gavriil, and Anael. Two of them had run away, two had stayed behind, Mikhail even threatened to tell the rest of the family what they were planning when his mother had brought it up. So, with a heavy heart his mother had taken him and his unsuspecting father (he was a professor who'd met her on an educational trip to St. Peters-burg. She'd fallen in love). By the time Castiel had been born she had been getting antsy. She'd successfully kept her husband away from her criminal background, but she couldn't do the same for her children. That was one thing that she couldn't have control over. Her husband wasn't _family_. But her children were.

When Castiel had been around one, she'd taken him and fled to England, where his father was from. They moved to Suffolk and he had a happy childhood there.

That is, until the _family_ found her, and decided to make her pay for the insult.

Castiel had been over-seas on a mission at the time, emergency UK troops sent out to Saudi Arabia.

His handing over of all of his mother's private possessions( diaries, pictures of her childhood, and sharing of his own childhood stories) had gotten him into protective custody. A new passport, citizenship, and a recommended transfer to the Marines before he found himself interested in the BAU. The protective service had complained about him keeping his first name, but he'd refused to take away the last thing he had left of his mother. So it remained.

"Boss-man, you in there?"

Cas pulled himself out of his thoughts and fully focused. He turned to Pamela and nodded, "Just thinking. We'll want to be especially careful with this one when we land. I've had to consult with the office before. Their men have rather colorful ideas about FBI agents."

Ellen groaned as they all stood to get their go bags and meet at the jet. Castiel was paused at the door by Charlie. "Oh, sir, before you go," she handed him a pile of files, "whenever you get back, the OKC office has requested that you and any other agent you can spare go back down to conduct a few interviews. They've found a few people they felt you should look at but were told to cross-reference with us before they started the investigation."

"Thank you, be sure to let them know I'll be flying there after this case is over."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Castiel touched down at the airport with a cramp in his back. He'd finished off the case and Ellen had volunteered as the second, having the least paper work left to file on her field report. She'd teased him about being an old man and he let her indulge in it. They'd done well. Of course, they hadn't been able to do anything for the first two victims, but they managed to save the third. And the killer was captures alive. All in all that could be chalked up to a victory in their books.

"Are we headed straight to the Field Office?" Ellen asked as they slid into the company provided car.

Castiel nodded, "They will not be closing for another few hours. We still have another two days before the weekend so there is no rush, but it never hurts to get as much work done as we can. Unless you would prefer to rest first?"

Ellen shook her head, "Bring it on, big guy. I've got plenty of energy left." Castiel shook his head, pleased, and started the car.

The reconstruction work on the building exceeded both of their expectations. Large blue tarps covered certain sections but at least ¼ of the damage had already been repaired at the base. Castiel estimated that maybe in five to six more months the building would be completely repaired with the exception of internal wiring and furniture.

"Impressive," Ellen commented with a soft whistle.

"I would have to agree," Castiel mumbled as they grabbed their files and strode into the building, after pat downs and scans of course. They were about to turn down the hallway when someone called out his name.

"Castiel?" He turned around to find Dean Winchester staring at him. "I mean, Agent Novak," he quickly corrected himself.

Castiel found himself smiling a little. Ellen gave an amused snort and said she'd go ahead, muttering something about spending time with his boyfriend. He would've given her a glare if he'd had the chance to. Dean strode forward and they shook hands, one of them perhaps holding on a little longer than was professional. Then again, Castiel didn't exactly have stones to throw, he'd made a personal late night phone call to the man in question.

"What brings you back?" Dean asked, cockiness spreading through his skin, filling him up. "Couldn't stay away, huh?"

"That sounds about right," Castiel responded, trying to keep amusement out of his tone. "We're here to supervise and conduct interviews of subjects your department has identified related to the bombing."

"Speaking of," Dean replied, back straightening a little. "I need to talk to you." Cas raised an eyebrow. "It's related. But uh, maybe in private-" realizing how it came out he raised a hand and backpedaled- "I mean it's just... theories and I don't want to go forward with it until I get a second opinion."

"I'm sure you have other qualified agents to share your thoughts with?"

"Yeah, well, you're here and you're BAU, figuring out if something makes sense is your job right?"

Castiel chuckled a little, "I believe that's most of our jobs."

Dean rolled his eyes, "I mean that profiling stuff, getting into heads, figuring out why and then making predictions?"

"That is true."

"So that's a yes?"

Castiel contemplated it for a minute. "Before I leave, I believe I can. We will be here until Friday working, our flight out is Saturday evening. I'm sure I have room for a consult between then."

"Good," Dean dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a card, "Just in case. My number. Although you apparently already have it." And with a wink he was gone.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"Is there a reason I'm keeping tabs on this guy?" Charlie asked Cas, as she pulled up Dean Winchester's file. She stared at the screen.

Dean had shocked him with the amount of information he'd gathered by himself, and just how many strings he had looped together. Castiel had hesitated to ask him for his sources, some of the information being confidential to certain eyes only, but Charlie hadn't been able to detect any breaches in the system to suggest a hacking. Dean had even provided acute insights into motives, asking probing questions. _Why set fires? There's plenty of evidence left behind from half of these so it can't be that. It's common in all the cases but doesn't even always cause destruction? Is fire like a thing for this guys? And the explosive? They're not always there either- _Castiel had been so impressed with some of his deductions he had casually thrown out a suggestion to transfer to the BAU, and that there was a job opening. It seemed as if Dean had thought over his suggestion seriously as he asked Charlie to see if there had been any new requests for information on a transfer.

There had been one.

"Tho', he is cute for a guy."

"He has potential," Castiel replied with a clipped voice as he stood up to step out.

"Potential, _right_," Charlie muttered under her breath as she closed out of the file.

**A/N: **BACKGROUND INFORMATION REVEAL. BAM. I'm sorry for those of you who think Destiel isn't evolving fast enough but I personally hate stories where they don't build up to it. It's coming, I mean we're already at Dean wanting to transfer to the BAU so. Good progress. There's... I can't actually say how many more chapters before Dean transfers. 2? 3? There's some stuff that happens in Oklahoma before that happens.

Please, please review! It's my bread and butter.


	5. He's Not Shooting Blanks

**A/N: **I believe I have completely keeled over of feels for last night's ep. (8x17) Brilliant. I laughed, I cried, and then I grieved and freaked out some more. It's going to get mentioned- Hoover is the guy that started the FBI. Roy Hazelwood is one of the creators of the BAU. Enjoy and R&R. I need compliments to deal with emotional trauma caused by SPN.

**Update: **Beta-d March 28th by i8ctrlplusv! Now with 99% less BS.

**Chapter 5: He's Not Shooting Blanks**

The vase sitting on the hallway stand rattled a little as Dean walked in. He let the door slide shut without trying to stop it from slamming. At some point he'd really have to fix that. Groping blindly behind him, he turned the lock, and let his keys drop into the vase( miserably missing the table).

If he was going to be honest with himself, he should've been in a better mood. All things considered, in one week they'd put away 15 dealers and two murder suspects. Hell, he was back as a fully functioning agent with a new car and an ass load of cases that had piled up.

Being active was good for the mind. Even with the still stinging loss of Victor, he hadn't even been that grouchy about being assigned a new partner so quickly. Until, that is, the new partner strolled to the desk across from him, unceremoniously dumped Victor's old objects into a bag, and handed it off to another agent to toss. Gordon had grinned at him and plopped himself down in the chair. They'd shaken hands and started discussing the case while Dean glowered a bit. He totally wasn't sulking.

He'd always thought that Gordon was a bit of a... dynamic character if one had to put it politely. Had one of the best arrest records in the district and was frighteningly efficient. Dean could appreciate diligence in the line of duty, but that didn't mean that he and the other agents didn't like to occasionally speculate when he was gonna snap and take out the office. That joke was considerably less funny now, now that there had actually been an explosion at the office. (And they still hadn't figured out how the bombs were set off from the inside.)

Working with Gordon now, it gave him a whole new perspective on the guy. He was every bit as competent as the rumors said. Even more so than Dean could've imagined. Terrifyingly efficient. They'd nailed arrest, after arrest, after arrest; barely taking the time out for lunch. While the quick work load helped distract Dean a little -at least while he was on duty- from the massive storm in his own head; he found he missed Victor. Their partnership had held their own record maybe somewhere in the top five, but that was fine. They'd never really cared about it; they did their job well and with close attention to detail. But it wasn't _neurotic_. It had taken Dean until he got home to think of the word for it.

Another thing that had struck him, as he was trying to find something to toss in the microwave, was how much Gordon enjoyed the work. It wasn't like the sense of pride that Dean shared with the other officers. It wasn't even the satisfaction some of them got just knowing that the city was cleaner. If anything, it resembled the rush an agent with a vendetta felt when they got their man. That still wasn't quite it. Dean knew plenty of officers who didn't creep him out like that. Having watched Gordon all week, he could swear the guy almost got off on it. Took real pleasure in tackling every single guy in his path. There were a couple, that Dean even noted in his own report, where he questioned whether or not they'd made the right arrest. But those were very weak concerns and even he didn't fully trust his instincts. Gordon was no crooked cop.

His food was almost done when the door creaked open, slamming shut again. Dean listened as Sam's footsteps echoed through the hallway, the sound of keys jingling, and a coat being put up. Sam rounded the corner and gave Dean a wary look. "What are we eating?"

"Hot dogs and tequito's."

"That's disgusting," Sam replied with a frown, but stepped over anyway to grab a plate.

Dean nodded his head and glanced at his brother. They hadn't exactly been getting along since Sam had asked him about the papers on his desk. Or rather, Dean hadn't had the chance to really patch things up. More often than not, Sam was gone by the time Dean got home, especially now that he was back in the field and he was on a tight schedule. He hadn't heard anything from the bureau yet on whether Sam had been re-instated for active duty. Honestly, Dean had figured that the legal department would be the first to get shuffled through. There was a lot of paper work piled up, not just in the OKC branches but on the bombing too. He'd asked Sam about a week and some change ago, and he'd only responded that he didn't know and wasn't sure that they would let it be handled internally anyway.

But, Dean couldn't exactly bitch.

Yeah it was like eight in the evening and he hadn't seen the kid in two days, but at least this time he didn't smell like a brewery.

"So... where've you been?" Dean asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. He was trying his best not to let his temper take over. He'd already been having a bad day mix that with his obsessively protective instincts for his brother? Immediate powder keg. Screw making a bomb with chemicals and shit; all they need was a room full of Dean's and to set 'em off all at once. Now there was some damn explosive power.

"Around."

"Gee thanks, that's super helpful," Dean mocked, all of his goodwill quickly draining. He pulled the microwave door open and slid out the plate of hot dogs. He moved them towards Sam and slid in the plate of tequitos.

"Dean-" Sam started, sounding a little exhausted and even more exasperated.

"No, don't worry about it. Whatever, man. I'm just your only brother," Dean quipped, perhaps a little harsher than he intended, "and you know, working for the Gang Squad, living smack dab in a city where 90% of the people have a grudge against me. Yeah. No worries."

There was a loud, slow sigh next to him as Dean maneuvered around his brother to grab two beers out of the fridge. He handed Sam one wordlessly and popped the cap off on the counter. Just as the microwave beeped, he heard his brother sigh loudly again. Dean ignored it and grumpily set his plate down on the island counter. He took a massive gulp of his beer and reached over to grab the remote he'd left there. The TV flickered to life as Sam sat down next to him.

"I've just been wandering around."

"Wandering around?" Dean asked, eyes sliding to his brother for a second before settling back on the TV.

"Yeah, just, walking around places," Sam replied, sounding sullen. It was the tone that usually calmed Dean's temper the most. Sam only sounded this way when he knew he'd really scared, or upset his big brother. And that didn't happen very often. Angry, sure. But actually upset and worried? Sam knew better than to do that to him.

"They don't have phones in these random places you're walking around?" Dean griped but there was less spite in his voice.

"I know, and I'm sorry, but. I needed some time to clear my head. Being in this apartment, and not knowing. I couldn't take it, okay?"

"Well, at least you don't smell like you slept in a bar."

"I figure that's your thing. Would be rude to take it from you," Sam replied, holding onto his beer a little nervously.

Dean sighed and shook his head, chuckling dryly. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Hopefully not kick me out of the apartment for being stupid?"

"Like I could actually do that. Just, try not to put me on radio silence again."

"Will do."

There was a bit of silence that passed between them, some of the tense awkwardness having been swept out of the apartment. They passed the salt and ketchup courteously, and watched the TV.

"Run into anything interesting on these walks of yours?" Dean asked when they were putting their plates up.

Sam shrugged as he pulled out another two beers for them. "Not really. I walked around town mostly, made it pretty far down that road that they're trying to fix up into a freeway."

"Not trying to run away on me are ya?" Dean needled with a small smirk as they settled on the couch.

"If I were, I think I'd grab a little more than the clothes on my back," Sam replied with a snort.

"I dunno man. I remember, you were like four or something, and -" Dean paused to laugh "- you wanted something, some toy or some food for dessert, and Dad got pretty stern with you about it. You got on that little trike' of yours and went. Mom was so mad. I took off after you and brought you home."

"I don't remember that."

"You were kinda small then."

Sam felt the mood somber up a little. The tone in his brother's voice suggested that it was a childhood's worry and that he didn't carry any abandonment issues from it. But his brother was known to lie, and just in case, he wasn't going to take any chances. He couldn't apologize for needing the time to himself, but he could admit fault for not calling Dean back and just taking off. "Thanks, Dean."

"That was years ago, a little weird to thank me now, Sammy," Dean replied, changing the channel.

"No, I mean-"

"No chick flick moments. You're back, and you know better, we're good."

"Yeah," Sam said, settling on the couch even though he felt a little unsatisfied. "Okay." He paused for a second. "I dunno, I really did just walk around. Every so often talked to some people. There was this girl, Meg,-" he almost flinched, waiting for a joke about a new girl in his life. He was grateful when one didn't come. Maybe his brother had more tact than he gave him credit for, "we talked for a bit. Went our separate ways. I think she was trying to find a way out of town or something. Too hectic for her with the bombing. She didn't say, but I figure she wanted to skip town because she lost someone too."

Dean found he really didn't have much to say to that, so he detoured. "Was she hot?"

"I wasn't exactly paying attention," Sam shot back, smacking Dean on the arm. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You're back in the field, right?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, what about it?"

"Well, what's it like? Any... different, with you know, everything?" Sam stumbled a few times with how to phrase it. He'd almost asked what it was like without Victor, but he already knew the answer to that question. It didn't seem right to push the subject when Dean had tried so hard not to bring up Jess.

"Working with Gordon now."

"No shit," Sam exclaimed, sitting straight. "Gordon Walker, Gordon?"

"Yup."

"I bet that's... interesting."

"He's no Vic, I'll tell you that," Dean replied, leaning back on the couch. "Dude's nuts, I swear."

"Yeah?"

"We got, shit, something like 12-13 people streak this week."

"That's pretty high," Sam pondered, "I mean, usually you get maybe two a week per team, _if_ you're lucky_._"

"I know, man," Dean replied, taking a swig, "he's scary efficient. You know, it could also be all the pile up and shit from the bombing. People coming out the woodwork, getting riled up. Shit, you know most of those guys would've been happy to see the entire building crumble."

"Fair enough," Sam replied. "Keep an eye on him though."

"Trust me I will."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Gordon didn't follow Dean to their desks when they got back from their shift. Dean's shoulders were hunched and he practically marched over to his own desk. It took all of his efforts not to fling himself down on it. He could feel his teeth squeaking as he pulled out the reports he was supposed to fill out for their "arrests". They'd only gotten one and that was on Dean, and honestly, he was fine with it. He glanced over at the other desk and not for the first time wished it was Victor there. He would've never made Gordon's type of judgment calls. Dean angrily scribbled the events on paper, the point of the pen threatening to dig through the sheet.

He was halfway done when a hand clapped him on the shoulder. He turned around to see Rufus towering over him. Briefly, he wondered if he was in trouble for how things had gone down. Dean didn't need a verbal command to know that he was being pulled into a private meeting his office. With a glare, he got up from his desk and grabbed his stack of unfinished papers with him. All in all, Dean applauded himself on not snapping at anyone on their way there and closing the door like he'd been given a newborn baby.

"Gordon was in here," Rufus started, leaning against his desk.

"I figured."

"What the hell happened?"

Dean sighed and swung one of the chairs in the office around. They didn't usually bother being too formal with each other behind closed doors. They'd been working together too long for that. "Gordon's nuts."

"I've heard the rumors. I wanna know why he came in here telling me that you're touched in the head. Need to do a psych eval' or something because your head's not in the game."

"What?!" Dean bristled. He could feel himself puffing up for a fight. "That sonofa-"

"Don't get riled up over nothin'," Rufus snapped at him, "I wouldn't have let you in the field if I actually thought you were. He hasn't handed his report in, so what happened?"

Dean sighed and threw his stack of papers on the desk. "Just patrolling a routine area. We're not on any big cases right now, not chasing down anyone. Just helping out Narcotics to patrol. We found some kids. We knew of one 'em, Mac. We've seen him dealing before but they weren't doing anything. Hell, he was probably the oldest in that group. And he's friggin' 17. Gordon gets out of the damn car, pulls his gun out, and starts storming towards 'em, telling 'em to put their hands up and lie down on the ground. Christ, this one kid was like 12-years old, took off running, terrified. Gordon tried to fire off a round into his leg to stop him after the first warning. So I tackled him to the ground; Mac and the other kids got away and now he's pissed but I wasn't about to let him shoot at a fuckin' 12-year old."

Rufus stayed quiet after Dean's rant. Dean had grown increasingly agitated as he told his story. He wasn't exactly sure what the company policy was on tackling your fellow agent to the ground and letting "suspects" go, but he was pretty sure they at least frowned on shooting innocent kids. Dean started to feel a little nervous as the silence dragged on. No matter what Rufus' final verdict would be, his shoulders sagged in relief when he started talking. "Was the hood camera running on the car?"

"Like it always is."

"Good. I'll tell Internal to go take a look at it. We haven't had a lot of complaints on him, if any, from previous partners. His record is on a steep decline but we've never had a reason to look into it. If this is what he's been doing, it needs to stop. It's hard to fight against the '_corruption in the FBI_' myth when there's actually corruption with our agents."

"Oh, "Dean said stupidly, not expecting to be agreed with.

"Dean, you're one of my best agents, you've had a solid run for years. I have no reason to think you'd come in here and spout off bullshit when lives are concerned."

"Uh, thanks," Dean muttered, feeling the back of his neck start to heat up. He wasn't so good with compliments.

"Speaking of-," Dean looked up as Rufus walked around his desk and sat down, "I got an interesting request about a day ago." He pulled out a file from his drawer. "It's a request for a personal evaluation of you, for a transfer."

Dean gulped, feeling a little embarrassed. It hadn't officially gone through yet. He hadn't even completed his application. The most he'd done was send in a request for specific information- the schedule and registration form for the field training for the BAU, and a requirements list. He didn't think the papers would go through this fast, or that an evaluation would've been sent out so quick.

"Yeah. Cas told me there was an opening. After the bombing," Dean shrugged, "I don't know. I've been talking to him and it seemed like a good change of scenery."

"Agent Novak?" Rufus seemed a little surprised but gathered it together. "If they accept you I wouldn't be surprised-" Dean's face went slack with confusion, "you're a damn fine agent, Dean. And I know you took those extra seminars on criminal psychology over the years. You know, I'm going to give you a ringing endorsement. It helps that I know Bobby Singer on the unit too."

"Small world," Dean squeaked out. He wanted out of the office; it was starting to get small and cramped. One too many praises for him.

"It's a hard job, Winchester," Rufus continued, "damn hard. You'll need to get re-trained. For the next half a year to a year you will be taking extra courses to get your basic qualification for profiling. Half of the work load you can do here, but after that, you'll be moving to Quantico. This is not a guaranteed job, even with my two good cents. There are other agents applying for it, although if we're going to be honest, most of the profilers they have lined don't have anywhere near the level of field qualifications that you do. Just so happens they're more desperate for someone to watch their backs in the field. They already got an office full of Ph.D carrying professionals."

"Uh, right, yeah. Makes sense."

"I'm sending off my evaluation tomorrow morning. I'm not pushing you out, you're welcome to stay. But if you want that transfer, really gun for it. They won't take half-assing."

Dean nodded and got up silently as Rufus turned back to his paperwork. He knew he'd been dismissed. His head was buzzing as he got to his desk and realized he'd forgotten his report. It could wait for now. He packed up his things in a daze, vaguely noticing that he had a missed call on his cellphone. They'd call back if it was important. Dean went down to the garage and drove home.

He'd barely made it to his door when he heard someone call his name. He turned around, confused. Lisa's face swam into his vision, her expression a mixture of fury and concern. She looked like a cross between furious and concerned. He backed up against his door.

"Uhm, hey Lis- what are you doing here?" he asked and immediately wanted to take it back, as her face clouded over. She shook her head and pointed to the door silently. Dean unlocked the apartment and stepped in, holding the door open for her. She kept her jacket on; a bad sign already, but at least she took her shoes off, so they weren't going to be having this argument in the hallway.

He guided the door shut and took off his own shoes and jacket. He made sure to put the keys on the little hanger, then trailed after her. Lisa was settled on the couch, a lot of her anger already fading. She could be hot tempered when she wanted to, but if anything, her temper dissipated pretty quickly. Even with all the bullshit he had pulled during the time that they'd been together, or every time they'd had an argument after. She'd flare up like a super-nova and burn everything around her to a crisp. But afterward, she'd quickly regain her sense, no matter how tired she was. He could never understand how she did that.

"What did I do?" Dean asked, half trying to make a joke even though he knew it probably _was _something he'd done. There was a reason they weren't together anymore.

"You could be around your phone for more one," Lisa muttered with a sigh.

Dean started to protest, "Hey, I've been around it the entire time. Sam's the one that's been running around with-" Lisa silenced him with a glare and he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He winced as he actually looked at who the missed call was from. "Shit, Lis. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, and before you ask, no one's sick or in grave and immediate danger."

"So, what's wrong?" he asked. Feeling more relieved with the situation, he settled himself next to her on the couch.

"I know you're always busy with the FBI. Something I knew before and I'm well aware of it now," she started, turning a little to face him. "Now, I get that. But Ben, Ben doesn't." Dean gulped, feeling guilty. When was the last time he'd said more than two words to the kid? "He knows about what happened and the PG version of the details. He knows that you're out there taking out the bad guys and being his hero. And before you get too depressed with yourself, he hasn't said anything about it. But you've missed the last nine-ten get-togethers. We're not even doing weekend dinner anymore, and he's starting to get-"

Dean sighed and buried his face into his palms. He rubbed at his forehead and pulled one large hand over his mouth. "Shit Lisa. I'm sorry. I'm so- just. This case-" he felt a small voice in his head whisper _'liar'- _"and I just got back in the field. And fuck- I'll do better."

Lisa sighed and tilted her head, but she had a kind smile on her face. "Look, I'm not asking you to be a full-time father for Ben. But you're all he's got. So maybe, call him tomorrow? You don't even have to come over or anything. Just remind him that you're thinking of him. I don't think my word counts as much as yours does."

"Yeah, yeah. I will. I promise," Dean replied, half-pleading.

"Okay, good." Lisa stood up and straightened out her jacket, leaning over to give Dean a friendly peck on the cheek. "I'll show myself out. Get some sleep. You're starting to get circles under your eyes."

Dean grunted a good bye to her and waited until the door slid shut to lean back in the couch in self-loathing. He'd promised himself just because he and Lisa hadn't worked, didn't mean that he had to go and ruin what he had with Ben. It'd been some months since the day of the bombing and he'd gotten out of the hospital. Since then, he'd spent maybe one or two visits with them. Ben had insisted on coming over to see him for one of them. Sometimes Dean forgot that Lisa and Ben had seen him unconscious in the hospital bed.

"I'm shit at everything," Dean told the ceiling.

A small voice in the back of his head piped up again '_and a liar'_. Dean told it to shut up and that he wasn't lying, to which it responded with '_you're lying three-fold'_. He had to stand up and pour himself a few shots of whiskey to get the voice to stop nagging on him. Technically, it was right. He hadn't been busy all the weeks because of some cases, hell, he wasn't even actually on the bombing case. No one at the office was. It was all his own research that he'd been digging around in that was taking away his free-time. Bela had proven to be more useful. More than she'd probably thought she would've been. But, for the price she'd milked out of him, she'd had better been.

He sat down in front of his laptop and angled himself so that the screen was facing the window and he had eyes on the rest of the room. He couldn't hear snoring from the other room, so he assumed his gigantor brother out somewhere communing with nature. Or whatever he was doing on those walks. Dean typed in his password and all of his work popped up in front of him. Hindsight would later tell him it was stupid not to close out of all the files he had up. But, getting forked in the ass by hindsight was Dean Winchester's specialty.

The computer beeped at him as he closed out of incomplete coroner's reports and missing witnesses. He still hadn't found a way to worm around the locked files. It'd be easy to find contacts but Dean wasn't 100% sure if digging in the database illegally would be a federal offense; so he left it at that. What bothered him, other than the locked, was the massive amount of holes in existing files. And then the files "still pending". Some of them were nearly a decade old. Dean suspected that some of those had been purposely altered too.

He really had to shake his head at some of the upper levels of staff. If a report wasn't satisfactory, or top brass thought you were making shit up, they'd sometimes make you tweak it. In Dean's opinion it was the most retarded thing, because when it came out, and it always did, that sure as hell wasn't going to get anyone's trust in them. They were almost literally shooting themselves in the foot. Although he couldn't exactly be surprised with the policies. There were some, barely clinging to life, geezers from Hoover's time there. And, of course, men who still held true to the Hoover policy of _lie, lie, lie, lie. _It confused the hell out of most agents, especially those not involved in bureaucracy. They were there to do one job, to protect the citizens of the country. How the hell were they supposed to do that when the damn people they were protecting didn't trust them?

Grumbling, Dean closed the last of the files until there was only last folder open on his computer. The one giving him the most trouble. In bolded letters, dropped a few times throughout an article on Azazel read: **C.O.L.T. ** No more information than that. Not even a full description of what the acronym stood for. Before he could get the chance to even start the research the front door flung out, a large, and very upset Sam Winchester stomping through it.

Dean closed his laptop.

"You're moving to VIRGINIA?!"

Dean groaned as the little voice in his head mocked him. _"Wait until Lisa finds out."_

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

There was a soft sizzle from the aspirin that sank into the water cup. Phones buzzed in the background as Cas swished the glass around, taking huge gulps. He rubbed his fingers over his temples as he read over the piles of files at his table. He'd finally gotten through the reports he had to file to everyone else, which meant he was back to flipping through the Memorial Bombing. The pages glared at him, and if he could, he almost felt like setting them on fire.

He knew there was inefficiency and a massive lack of funds in a lot of cities, and especially in the forensics fields. But it wasn't an excuse. Half of the coroner and forensic offices were in rented out garages with industrial fans to keep them cool. Half of the bodies from previous crimes had been dumped out and incinerated because of the lack of space. Cas had heard of the angry rumblings on the quality of forensics when several lawsuits had popped up against a orthodontist performing autopsies and repeatedly misjudging cases. He just hadn't realized it was this rampant. Or that 90% of autopsies weren't performed by professionals. He'd almost started laughing hysterical when one report listed the credentials as a gynecologist.

A week later, he wasn't in the mood for laughing anymore. A pile of nothing and more than a thousand back and forth phone calls to exhume bodies had left him angry and exhausted. He'd been typing in requests for them exhumations and original files. Cas had been dealing with angry, originating officers, from small local towns that took it personally the second he swung in the word "Federal". The tone would change and he could feel them itching to hang up on him. At the very least, they were creating a taskforce to specialize on the case all year. They were willing to allow his team consultation rights for being original responders.

He leaned back in his chair and lifted an image of Lucifer in his hand. Cas stared at it, feeling a strange sick feeling curl around in his gut. He never could get over the fact that it was his older brother.

There was a small knock on his open door. "You in there?"

Cas lifted his eyes from the picture and tossed it down onto his desk. "Singer?" He leaned up, a little confused. Bobby waved a folder in his hand with raised eyebrows. With a frown, he reached out his hand to grab the file while his colleague sat down. With his stomach in knots, in his gut he flipped it open; reading the large and bold **CIA **on the front.

"I assume you've already flipped through it?" Cas said as he looked at the request. They'd long established a rapport to where they could glance through each other's files.

Bobby grunted in agreement. "Boy, you are in it now."

"What do they want me for?" Cas asked with a sigh. He was a consultant in the joint task force, sure, but anyone on his team could've been called for an in person meeting. And to the CIA?

"You know exactly why. Who do you think keeps tabs on past identities? I don't think this is a social call."

"True," Cas grumbled, wishing for another aspirin. "I assume I'm not allowed to decline this request. I don't know how long I'll be gone. I leave the team in your hands."

"Shouldn't be too hard to wrangle those idjits in." Cas gave the barest hint of a smile as he started allocating files for Bobby to take care of while he was gone.

Outside of the office Pamela and Ellen were sitting at a desk eyeing the two suspiciously. They'd started paying attention when Bobby had walked past them briskly, with barely a nod hello, and gone straight to Castiel's office.

"He seems agitated," Pamela remarked, sipping on a hot cup of coffee.

"I'm not surprised. He's still consulting with the bombing incident. As far I can tell it ain't going so well," Ellen responded.

"Yeah, but I don't think it's that type of agitated... If he keeps frowning like that, his face is going to get stuck."

"Which would be such a shame," Ellen huffed, rolling her eyes.

Pamela shrugged and grinned. "You'd think they'd know better than to leave the blinds open when they're discussing things."

"Yeah, but if they did, we'd know something was wrong," Ellen responded.

"As interesting as all that is, I think I've got something juicer." Ellen and Pam turned around to see Charlie approaching them, holding a few pieces of paper in her hand. She gave a cursory glance at Cas and Bobby in the office and let the paper be taken from her.

"Who's this handsome piece of meat?" Pamela asked, handing the paper off to Ellen.

"Huh," Ellen huffed, looking at the second piece of paper that Charlie had. "Dean Winchester."

"The one Novak questioned," Charlie offered helpfully when Pamela still seemed to draw a momentary blank.

"No shit." Pamela drew the papers back from Ellen and started flipping through it. "Evaluation? For a transfer?"

Charlie nodded, "In the first few baby step stages, but the wheels are rolling. Boss-man's given his first approval."

"After turning away every other agent we've fed to him?" Ellen remarked.

"Apparently," Charlie responded gathering the papers together, "His background and skills so far check out. I mean, he's no Roy Hazelwood but his field scores are through the roof, his record is down right impressive."

"I'm sure that's not the only thing that's impressive," Pamela teased.

They laughed a little to themselves but with no real malice behind it. They knew Castiel well enough to know that he would only ever let qualified agents work with them. Or in the field at all. Even then, if you really thought about it, they would've thrown him a party for finding someone that interesting. He never showed interest in anyone and not once had there been a mention of a fling. Even Bobby talked about his ex-wife.

"Shhh," Charlie hushed them as Cas and Bobby walked out. They frowned as they noticed him with a go-bag.

"Do we-?"

"No, stay put. I'll be gone for a few days on a consult, I'll trust you will be fine without me for a little," Castiel said as he made his way down the stairs. He pointedly looked at Charlie, "Make sure any paperwork arriving from Oklahoma City regarding Dean Winchester is passed along to the right channels."

"Of course, sir."

"And as for the rest of you, between cases I would like for you to come up with a comprehensive evaluation that you would like to see in a new addition for the team. He _has _potential, but this will be a unanimous decision. If his dynamic does not work with the team, we will not take him."

Charlie held in a giggle. '_Potential' _, now where had she heard that before?

With no further instructions, Cas waved them off and walked through the double doors to the elevators.

"Let's get started I guess?" Ellen said, glancing up at Bobby who had remained on the railing. He shrugged and went to open the door to the conference room.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

The drive to McLean wasn't very long. He'd been offered the chance to take a small hopper or a helicopter for the hour drive, but declined. That was a waste, and besides, there was only one landing field in the area. It would be stupid to put it out of use for this. The hour to Langley did leave him regretfully a little bit of time to think. He'd been doing too much of that lately already and really needed another aspirin. The summons on the papers had listed his birth name and passport pictures from when he was younger. It had also listed his history working for the Royal Marines under Special Forces. Another piece of information that had been sealed and locked away. If they knew about the Special Forces, they knew about his several deployments, specifically the ones that involved clashes with the people he regretfully called family.

While he'd grown up for the most part in Suffolk, he'd taken small trips here and there to Russia. He'd never seen any of the other family, at least, none that he remembered from such a young age, but there were pictures of him visiting major tourist sites. Maybe his mother had felt safe in public venues. And with his father not knowing, it could've been weird if out of nowhere she wanted nothing to do with her homeland. Maybe that's why he'd disappeared when his mother had turned up dead. They'd never located him.

He thanked the driver as he got out of the car and nodded to the CIA personal escorting him into the building. Cas knew they were bringing him for his family history, of which he had no personal knowledge of (other than the taunting letters and pictures he'd received). There were his few clashes with them overseas and the last skirmish at home in Suffolk, when they'd traced some of the sources. Castiel had helped put 3-4 lower ranking members of the mafia group away (none that he was related to) and made plans to get out of the country. It wasn't a big worry, but something in his gut churned slowly, praying that his identity would not get leaked. It could only spell trouble for him. He'd already made himself a home in Virginia. And he wanted no more pictures.

Cas handed over his public firearms, having been allowed to walk through the screening with one small pistol, and to the directors room.

"Agent Novak, how good of you to come," the director said, standing up, "We haven't officially met yet, Zachariah."

"I am at your service," Castiel replied, glancing briefly at the man's balding head before shaking his hand.

"Good, excellent, because we are going to need it. Boy, are we lucky to have run into you in our files," Zachariah responded jovially. He motioned for Castiel to sit. "Now, the bombing at the West Memorial building is top priority right now, for all of us. Especially since Lucifer's folks are behind it and we've over heard some... chatter," - Zachariah winked, and Castiel could only imagine how that 'chatter' had been acquired. "- And we think there might be something big headed our way. We don't know when, or how."

"I see."

"Glad you're following. Now, you've been a consultant but we're upgrading that because of your personal... experience-" Cas sat up in protest "- oh no calm down, calm down. We're not taking you away from the BAU. Much too important work-" Castiel could feel himself being mocked, "but we're putting you on the task force. We've got Interpol working with us, as well as a handful of governments here and there individually. Turns out we may not have been the only places hit, or with threats rolling around."

"I- what would you have me do then?" Castiel asked carefully.

Zachariah smiled and it made him feel a little ill. He'd been feeling ill a lot lately. Maybe he was sick? "So glad you asked. You're going to have a phone line that comes strictly to us. When we need ya, well pluck you out and then you can go back to your team. You will also be assigned a correspondent, a partner. He's been sent over from the European division. I hope you'll get along."

The door opened as if someone had been standing behind it waiting for a cue.

"Agent Novak, meet Agent Uriel."

**A/N: **And the plot thickens! -cackles- You guys are still interested I hope. I promise there will be plenty of Destiel schmoozing. (SQUEES "I NEED YOU" -turns into puddle on the floor), but for now they kind alive in separate states and it'd be weird for two professionals to start a love affair out of nowhere. But it's coming! (For my peeps, am I the only one freaked out by the new design?)

**More Info: **Also that shit about forensics? All true. If you get shot, you've got like a 80% chance that your body will never get a full autopsy by a professional. Most of those guys are vet's, dentists, gyno's. You live in L.A. ? May never even get to a table. You live a poor but crowded area? Your body might be kept in a walk in freezer that doesn't even close without a chain wrapped around it. And if you get fried for malpractice? You'll probably just get hired somewhere else again without a care. A lot offices, the head guy that signs off on autopsies isn't a forensic specialist either.


	6. Express Lane

**A/N: Sorry it took so long. I didn't mean for it to take this long but there was Mishapocalypse and episodes and people visiting. (Publishing un-betated, re update when I get the chapter back. My beta has a pretty busy schedule so please be patient, yeah? ) **

**Chapter 6: Express Lane**

Dean tapped his pencil against his lip, lowering it immediately when Agent Novak's eyes settled on it. He'd never been so aware of his nervous habits until he was seated in front of the agent. It wasn't just the steady steady stare that unnerved him. The guy was an expert in behavior psychology. Dean almost felt like he was sitting at the shrinks. His other source of nerves were the two large folders settled between them. As Castiel was reading through the already completed paperwork, Dean was filling out some of the last questionnaires; including a basic mental health evaluation. The loudest noise in the office, although the sign read conference room, was the clock on the wall. The longer the silence dragged on the more Dean wanted to vault out of his chair and rip the damn batteries out of the thing.

The words on the paper were starting to look like little marching ants, so Dean tried to distract himself for a little. There wasn't much left, and it wasn't like this was going to be anything concrete. Before they would even consider his full transfer he was going to be taking a prelim-course on behavioral psychology with a type of camp on serial offenders. Some of it would be a refresher for him. but it was still required. In the middle of arguing with Sam he'd made sure to stress that even if he didn't transfer the class would be helping him out.

He still hadn't told Lisa and had no idea how to bring it up. He hated hiding shit from her. But, when it came down to it, he really didn't want to worry her or Ben unnecessarily. Although, if he was going to be honest with himself, he probably wasn't even going to tell them until it was official and it would be like pulling off a band-aid. In the long run that would probably be worse. Dean couldn't exactly help that. He could easily run into a building on fire guns blazing, but give him an emotional conversation with people he loved and he ran for the hills.

"Is there a problem Agent Winchester?"

Dean's head snapped up and he hastily erased the doodles his hand had been starting to draw on the questionnaire. "We've talked about this, Dean is fine." Castiel let the edge of his lip twitch. "And no, nothing. Just thinking I may need a break from pencil pushing."

Castiel glanced down at Dean's paper, amused, "I can see that." He leaned back in his own chair and closed the folder he had open. "Coffee?" he asked, standing up.

"God yes, black," Dean groaned. He let his legs sprawl open in the chair.

There was a click and a small whirring sound as the coffee pot sprang to life. "Have you thought about where you would like to do your classes?"

Dean blew air past pursed lips, "OKC I think." Castiel made a humming sound in acknowledgment. "I mean I know I'll have to move. But I figure it gives me time to ease the family into the change."

"Yes, your brother and your..."

"Ex."

"Yes, them and your son. How are they? I hear they're still going through personnel files at the office as well. The recovery progress has been tediously slow."

"Yup. And I don't see it ending anytime soon either. They're fine, well, as fine as they could be. It's been hard on everyone from the office, too" Dean added, wanting to detach himself from the event by mentioning others. He didn't want it turning into a personal heart-to-heart.

"True," Castiel remarked. The coffee pot let off a soft ping and he poured the two of them a cup. He sat back down across from Dean, sliding the mug across the table. He lifted one of the errant papers on the desk into his hand and glanced through it "We do have a few agents already in OKC, the classes themselves shouldn't be a problem. Some of the material you will be able to access online. There will be a few weeks where we may ask you to fly up here-" Dean's gut clenched. The flight up here had been bad enough already- "for special lectures and field practices but that should be manageable."

"Right, cool- thanks."

Silence stretched between them as they sipped on their respective coffee's. Cas seemed content to go back to the pile of papers while Dean let his eyes wander around the room. Eventually his eyes settled on the the rest of the department. Well, what he could see behind the blinds. There were a handful of cubicles littering the ground floor and people walking back and forth between them. Every so often he could swear he was being stared at, but couldn't quite pinpoint where the stares had come from. He finally caught someone's eye and instead of blushing, ashamed maybe that they'd been caught, she winked at him and wiggled her fingers. Dean's eyebrow's hitched upwards a little bit. She slid off of her desk with a quick word to her co-workers. She walked up towards the office, hair bouncing a little with her step, towards the conference room they were holed up in. "Uhm Cas?"

Castiel looked up from the papers and frowned as Pam walked up to the door and knocked. He gave a reluctant 'come in'. The door creaked open and he clutched his cup a little tighter. He didn't' appreciate the twinkle behind her eyes. "Dean Winchester, Agent Barnes. I don't think we've been introduced."

"Pleasure to meet you ma'am," Dean replied with a friendly wink.

Pam smiled and shook his hand, "Trust me, pleasures all mine." She gave him a once over.

Dean laughed and Castiel shot her a quick, dark look. "Is there something you needed Pamela?"

She shook her head and walked up to grab herself a quick cup of coffee since it was already hot and running. "Just wanted to say hello to the potential new recruit. Get a feel for him. Especially if we're going to be out in the field together. The team didn't exactly get a chance for introductions before you whisked him away."

"And?" An amused smile played at Dean's lips.

"Well at least you're handsome," she replied giving Cas a quick look, before shaking Dean's hand again, "I assume once you're relinquished from paperwork we'll be able to make proper introductions."

The door slid shut with a soft thump.

"Friendly," Dean remarked, turning back to his papers.

"That is one way to put it."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Late in the evening, Dean drove back to the hotel he was staying at for a few days. The paperwork hadn't taken him too long to complete but the rest of the BAU team had been just as enthusiastic as Pamela had been. They'd insisted on Chinese and a beer or two after the initial meet and greet on the ground floor. Castiel hadn't come, but Dean couldn't tell whether that was normal or not. He seemed like a friendly enough guy. At the very least, he'd been nice enough with Dean. They'd even had banter that Dean had attempted to push into flirting. Whether it was succeeding or not remained to be determined. Cas was a weird guy. Even then, he wasn't quite sure what to make of the looks the the team had given the agent in charge as they'd walked out.

Whatever, not his problem. Yet anyway.

Exhausted, he slid the plastic card through the mechanical slot and opened the door to his hotel room. He dropped his briefcase to the ground and ripped off his tie. Dean threw it towards the nearest chair and flopped down on the bed. He fumbled around for a bit, looking for the remote, and turned on the news. It played for about twenty seconds before he turned on a comedy station. He toed off his shoes, letting the drop to the floor with a clunk, and dug out his phone. Dean thumbed through a few people before settling on Sam. He sighed and shrugged out of his jacket, hitting enter.

The ring tone played for about a minute before Sam's voicemail started playing. Frowning, he redialed. After the third time he hit his brother's automated message he tossed his phone on the side desk. It clattered angrily. Dean shrugged out of the rest of his clothes. Beyond their initial argument about a week ago, when Sam had found out about Quantico, they'd had another major blowout right before Dean hopped on the plane. Which, honestly, Dean had not needed. Flying already made him want to hurtle himself off of a cliff; he didn't need his brother's shit on top of that. Since their first argument Sam had been acting a lot twitchier too. Nerves all around. He deserved another beer.

While Dean wanted to be angry with his brother and blame the behavior all on Sam's own shit, he had to concede that he probably hadn't gone about the entire thing the right way. His brother had pretty good reasons to be pissed at him. And pretty good reasons not to pick up the phone. Hell, Dean could be just as petty if not worse. And truthfully speaking, he usually was worse. Still. It would've been nice to keep tabs on his brother after everything.

"You only got yourself to blame, man," he told the ceiling, rolling over to turn off the lamp. He had an early wake up.

Dean would be doing a small fitness test under the watchful eyes of Bobby Singer and Castiel Novak with cadets wanting to join in the field. At the very least he wanted to be somewhat rested for it. It wasn't exactly going to look good if he couldn't even compete with undergrads.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"This has got to be hell."

Dean huffed out a deep breath. He wiped away sweat that was dripping into his eyes. His muscles burned as he took off over the next wall, hauling a dummy over it with him.

"I've died and gone to hell."

In addition to having woken up at the crack of dawn, and despite the cool spring temperatures still clinging to the north, he was burning up. Their basic test was almost on par with the field test he'd taken to join the Gang Unit in OKC. He was well ahead of the cadets, clearing obstacles in good time, but he wasn't happy about it. His lungs burned and the morning air pricked at his lungs. When Agent Singer and Cas finally swam into his vision as two small dots in the distance he braced his body and took off.

He passed them with a grim look to make his last lap around the course.

Bobby grinned a little and nudged Cas in the rib. "Sharp eye you got there. We might even be able to skip some corners on his BAU test."

Castiel huffed, not being known to skimp, but Bobby could tell he was pleased. "I admit, he has far exceeded my expectations. Although I believe he isn't having a very positive effect on the moral of the cadets."

They shared a small chuckle as they watched the first of the trainees show up in the distance, panting and pouting.

"I figure they'll live as long as Winchester there doesn't overlap 'em."

"Let us hope that does not happen," Castiel responded.

They waited in silence another 30 minutes until Dean showed back up over the horizon. They could see him clearing the wall with the "unconscious" victim, letting it gently drop to the ground, before taking back off towards the finish line. Bobby clicked the timer but put it in his pocket without looking at it. With speed like that it was a little bit of a moot point.

"I can see why Rufus gave his recommendation," Bobby said as Dean stopped. They migrated towards a small tented area. Food and water had been laid out on it for after the test. Dean's stomach gave a grateful grumble as he picked up one of the mini-sandwiches and grabbed a cold bottle of water. Someone from the staff came over and handed him a towel.

"Oh? That's good," Dean gulped down water. "He did say something about knowing you."

"Knowing is a bit of a relative term," Castiel responded with a small gleam in his eye. While Bobby and Rufus certainly respected each other as colleagues, their nature's often clashed. The last few times they had met they had parted with fighting words.

"Really now?"

Bobby gave Cas a glare, who only shrugged before Bobby walked off to call for their van.

"The sentiment remains. You did remarkably well," Castiel commented as they began to stroll towards the main road.

"Yeah well, it helps had some frustrations to work out."

Castiel made a small noise of curiosity.

"Nothing big man, just. Family shit," Dean responded. Castiel took the hint from his tone and backed off, not asking anymore.

They walked quietly for about a minute or so before Dean spoke up again, adrenaline making him feel like casual conversation. "So, what's with all the looks and glanced you keep getting from the team?"

Cas frowned. He remained silent for a little before sighing, his shoulders drooping. "They can't keep their noses in their own business it seems."

They'd reached the fork in the road by the time Dean felt brave enough for his second question.

He'd been itching to ask but hadn't, not once since his arrival. "Speaking of... keeping your nose to yourself. Any, uh, news on the OKC killings? On, Azazel and junk?" Dean fought to keep his tone casual as his insides churned. He'd been told before that it was classified but he figured now with some of the transfer basics started he might be able to weasel some information out of the other man.

Castiel gave him a long look before shaking his head. "Nothing I could share with you."

Dean tried not to pout. He was a federal agent damn it, and agents didn't pout at protocol. Often. His mood relented a little as Cas attempted to give him an apologetic smile. He felt the need to give the guy some slack, with how awkward the expression looked on Cas' face, he probably didn't very often actually regret not being able to share information.

"Don't worry about it, man. Just figured I'd ask."

"If I could, I would," Castiel replied quietly as Dean walked faster ahead of him.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

_Castiel chuckled a little as he and Uriel sat across each other in the small office Zachariah had cleared for them. "You have a refreshing sense of humor," he commented at the larger man. _

_Uriel gave a lazy smile as he straightened out papers. "My mother did always say I was gifted with a quick wit." _

"_Your mother was a wise woman."_

_They shared another quiet chuckle together before sobering. They weren't here to make jokes, although that they were able to was a relief. Castiel had been worried that he would not have been able to get along with this agent. Especially since he seemed aware of Castiel's own relation to the case at hand. _

"_My family's crime world as well," Uriel offered, noticing how Cas had started to draw into himself, and that just wouldn't do. Castiel needed to trust him. It was key. "Records expunged, new identity. From what I've gleamed from your file, you were luckier than I. I was an adult when I made my escape." _

"_I'm sorry to hear that." Castiel sat up straight in his chair, eyes filled with true sympathy. What little he'd known of his family, from the few visits he'd had, Castiel hadn't even liked it as a child. He couldn't imagine what he would've turned out like if it hadn't been for the physical land barrier his parents had put between him and _them. _He paused for a moment. "I would have thought you would be an expert on me and my family at this point." _

_Uriel hummed in lazy agreement. "I felt that would be rude," he let his face smooth out to as open of an expression as he could muster, "as I said. I understand. And...I was also privy to the knowledge that we would be working together, far before you were. While I will have access to your files, as you mine, I made the assumption that it would be far more civil if we simply shared the pertinent information." _

"_That is... very considerate of you." Castiel felt an inkling of unease crawl across his shoulders. He wasn't sure how he felt about having been scouted so far in advance but not having been privy to as much information. He'd only received Uriel's file a few minutes ago. It always made him uneasy to start out with uneven footing. Castiel didn't like being the underdog. _

"_We're both adults here. We will be painfully combing through both our childhoods. And our... special skills in each of our respective fields, and your exemplary military history-" Cas frowned. He'd done good work but he wasn't proud of all of it. "- make us very important assets. We will need to be fully on the same page." _

_Castiel couldn't argue with that, even if he still wasn't 100% sure what faction Uriel was from exactly. _

_There was a knock on the door. Zachariah didn't wait for a reply before sliding in. "Getting along swimmingly I see?" He kept going without a reply from either of them. "Great, wonderful. Now let's get this show on the road shall we." Zachariah handed each of them a thick folder. "You both do have day jobs," he chuckled, "but while you're there. I want you to become familiar with these files. We will see each other in a few weeks." _

Castiel drummed his fingers on the table staring at the folder on his desk. He was waiting for Dean to come in to hand him the last of the paperwork before leaving back to Oklahoma City. The **C.O.L.T. **files sat there, slightly spread from the folder, staring back up at him. He almost felt like if he left them alone for too long they would burn a rectangular hole through his desk. There was a lot of information there, despite being able to tell it was partial. They hadn't given him original files and there were sections that had been doctored and cut out. It didn't surprise him too much with the secrecy and security level of the case, but it still didn't leave him feeling very comfortable.

There was a knock on his open door and Cas stood up. Dean smiled at him and held up a bundle of papers. "I think I got 'em all. But page 5 didn't print right, Charlie said you probably had another copy for me to fill out."

"Right, yes. Of course." Castiel rose from his chair, turning to go rummaging through one of the four large file cabinets that stood in his office.

Cas would never find out that this moment was how Dean found out a little more than he should have. And why his team would be called back to OKC almost 48 hours later.

As Castiel rummaged through the files Dean slid closer to the desk. He hadn't meant to look, not really. He was just a naturally curious person. He didn't even touch anything on the desk. It wasn't his fault that the files had been spread out enough to catch a few names. His heart had started hammering already as he'd read the print on the top of the files. Dean had casually glanced around him before stretching his neck and glancing at a sheet.

It was a row of names.

His heart started beating a staccato when he noticed 'Sam Winchester' printed in neat Times New Roman font on the list. Dean couldn't quite see the title but it was enough to leave him feeling queasy. The other names were obscured from view.

He tried his best to keep calm as Castiel turned back around, the missing paper in hand.

"Dean? Are you all right?"

"Yeah yeah," he lied, putting on one of his most charming smiles. "Just, gotta fly in a few hours and _really _not looking forward to it."

Castiel chuckled and handed him the sheet. "We're going to have to work on that. Most of the time we travel by plane."

Dean gulped as he turned and walked out the door. That was really the least of his worries.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

For a flight that was only a few hours long, Dean had managed to get spectacularly drunk. At the very least he didn't have work the next day so he could allow himself the small luxury. The flight felt bumpier than usual. Every few seconds Dean felt a panic attack rush through him as he watch the little cartoon plane inch across the displayed map. The trip couldn't have just been complicated enough on its own. He'd just had to have gone sticking his nose in where it didn't belong.

The bile in his stomach was swirling so violently that he'd decided during the flight to leave his Impala parked at the airport for one more night. He could take a taxi home. His fingers were twitching nervously as he gripped his travel bags. The liquor he'd mainlined through threatened to come back up as the Taxi bounced and jumped along the road. Briefly, he wondered if he should've just driven himself home.

He felt his body relax as the taxi pulled up in front of their apartment complex. With barely a thank you he pulled himself out of the car and almost missed the driver's hand when he handed him the money. Dean was pretty sure that the guy gave him the finger as he drove off, but at the moment he couldn't exactly care. He needed to see Sam.

Dean marched up the stairs to their apartment and fumbled with the keys for a little. He slurred a "Sam?! I'm back!" as he walked in, leaving his belongings in the entryway.

He frowned at the silence.

With a sigh, he marched through the house, trying to find a note or _something_. He'd told his brother when his flight was returning and while they had fought beforehand, he'd kinda expected him to be there. "Frigging Gigantor," Dean cursed, going to make himself toast as he continued to look for a clue as to where his brother could be.

It took him an embarrassingly long time to remember that he owned a cell phone and it did in fact have his brother's number in it.

He dropped his sandwich when he heard Sam's ringtone coming from his brother's bedroom.

Dean kept the phone to his ear as he marched froward, going back into the room he'd already checked. He dug around the blankets for a little bit before fishing out his brother's cellphone. It had several days worth of missed calls.

This time the liquor did come up and re-introduce itself.

When he could stand again without retching, he cleaned himself up and started to frantically search through his brother's room. "Come on Dean, just calm down," he tried to tell himself as he rooted around Sam's room. "He's probably just out and been moping. Ignoring people. It's been a rough few months for the guy."

By the time he'd torn through most of Sam's room, he finally came across a box. For a moment he had an amusing thought about finally finding his brother's porn stash. The kid had sworn up and down he didn't have one. The small bit of elation he'd gotten faded as he opened it up. It was filled with files. At the top of which was a handmade folder titled **C.O.L.T. **

Dean sat down on the bed, his legs shaking a little, as he opened it. There wasn't much in there. One or two sheets filled with junk that he couldn't really understand. There was a list there, not the one he'd seen in Cas' office, but one that still had his brother's name on it. Along with it were a list of others Max Miller, Andy Ghallager... Ava Wilson… the list went on for about a page. Dean continued to dig through the folder, finding personal files on each of the names on the list.

Dean took the box with him and marched into the living room. He opened up his laptop and attempted to search for the exact files that his brother had neatly set up in his room.

They were all locked.

Internal investigation and CIA level locked.

"Sammy," Dean cursed, "what the hell did you get yourself into?" There was no way a lawyer on retainer, not even an actual lawyer yet, would even be able to get near these files. He continued cursing as he read through some of the details.

_Fires. _

Bile attempted to creep its way up Dean's throat, his stomach now free of any actual physical substance.

_Mary Winchester._

His hands shook as he went for his phone, dialing the first person he could think of who could help.

"_Agent Winchester?"_

"I told you it's Dean," he snapped.

"_...Dean, what is it?" _

"What the hell is **C.O.L.T. **and why the hell is my brother in those files?"

"_... I'm not sure I know what you're talking about." _

"Cut the crap Cas. Where the hell is my brother?"

"_Your brother? Dean, please calm down."_

"I'm sure as hell not calming down. I found his phone, two days worth of missed calls, and he's got some sketchy as box hidden in his room and he's _missing._"

There was a pregnant pause on the other line. _"Dean... call Rufus. We have to be invited in. We'll be there as soon as we can." _Dean swallowed thickly. _"And Dean- I am sorry." _

"Can it. Just get here."

Dean hung up, hands shaking. So his gut feeling had been right. There was something shady going on. He'd expected, and hoped, that Cas would've simply brushed him off. Told him he was crazy. And drunk. But the soft electric current of fear in Castiel's voice had carried loud and clear over the line to him.

He poured himself a drink as he dialed Rufus.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Sam coughed and wheezed a little as he sat up. He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but his body felt exhausted and drained. There was a cold breeze as he took his hands and tried to work his muscles back to life. He stumbled a little as he stood, still disoriented. A sneeze wracked through his body as dust crawled up his nose. It echoed.

"What the hell?" he mumbled to himself as he took in his surroundings. Worn, broken down boards surrounded him. Upturned chairs with spiders webs. His stomach curdled. "This is bad," he told himself as he backed up against a wall, trying to located the door. Sam grabbed a broken piece of a chair leg as he crept out of it.

There was a rustling as he inched it open, steadying his swing. He prepared to let it loose. There was a shocked yell and two hands that flew up. Sam stopped his swing just before it collided with the covered face. Confused, he lowered his weapon for a little bit. The other boy standing in front of him peeked through his fingers. They both lowered their arms.

"Andy?!"

"Sam?!"

**A/N: **So my mouse is crapping out. Like hardware on the fritz I can't scroll over anything without 15 different things popping up. It's agitating as fuck. My keyboards breaking down too. I need a new laptop but laptop's are expensive. But here you go! How's that for suspense! It's shorter than all the other chapters but I dunno, it just kinda stopped there.


	7. Let The Good Times Roll

**A/N: **Thank antinickname for betaying this chapter. Lovely lovely.

**Chapter 7: Let The Good Times Roll**

Dean wrung his hands together.

He let his nails dig into the soft flesh in between his fingers. There were small crescent shapes settling in before he realized he was doing it. With a groan, he sat up and reached for the, now cold, cup of coffee. Dean gripped it tightly and ran his thumb along the plastic edge. For almost two days he hadn't slept. Adults weren't considered missing, without evidence of foul play, until after 48 hours. He'd been able to use his connections, and pulled a personal favor with the department to get the time cut down by 12 hours. Not that it helped his nerves any. Somehone had jokingly suggested tea for his twitching. He'd almost thrown the cup against the wall.

For almost two days now he'd sat in Rufus' head office. He'd nod off on the couch every so often but would snap up in a panic before anything that remotely resembled sleep settled in. Dean was jumpy and cranky but he refused to leave the office.

He was fresh out of interrogation. It had been completely useless, if anyone were to ask Dean's opinion. All they did was give him a pitying stares and ask him pointless questions. How the hell was he supposed to have any clue where Sam could be? He'd been in Virginia the entire time. They'd known that. For a small moment he understood the frustration their witnesses gave them.

The coffee cup was threatening to spill over as he griped it tighter. Rufus knocked on the door and Dean didn't even register it. He vaguely heard a sigh and the coffee cup was pried from his hands. "Dean, go home."

"No."

There's another deep sigh. A few tremors raced across the ground as his superior pulled up a chair in front of him.

"Winchester, don't make me turn it into an order."

Dean looked up at that, a little bit panicked. Being ordered off the premise could mean that some douchebag down the line could claim he was hindering the case, meaning he wouldn't be able to work on it. Well, not that he would've been allowed to work on the case under normal circumstances, but he still had a few favors to call in. He sighed and felt his body give up.

"There's nothing else you can do here, Dean. We've got another four hours before we even file the report, and I'm sure those BAU boys will be here in no time after that. Go. Home."

"I could help," Dean protested weakly, even though he thought it was desperate attempt. He'd been working for the FBI long enough to know exactly when people are being helpful, and when they're hindering the investigation. So, with reluctance and a small stumble as he got up, he agreed.

"You're also not driving. And go eat something," Rufus added.

He kept a hand ready to steady Dean if he stumbled again. Knowing Dean is stubborn, he only hovered behind him to the door and then quickly signals one of the free men to escort him out. There's a quick conversation on the location of the Impala and who's going to bring it back. Followed by an uncomfortable silence when Dean doesn't even defend the driving rights to his baby.

Dean felt like he was suffocating.

He let himself be led out. He didn't know by who, or even if they're friends, but that doesn't matter much. The car smelled too clean and all wrong to him, which it shouldn't. They all had the same company make and model that they drove. Dean drove the same type of car every day at work. But for some reason it felt wrong. The seats were itchy. The seatbelt was too tight and even with the windows rolled down it felt stuffy.

The scenery passed by in a blur as they got on the highway, Dean's thoughts blurred together like the concrete and the green of the trees. He wouldn't have even noticed they were back at his apartment if the agent with him hadn't spoken his name.

Dean got out of the car before he could be offered condolences. He didn't want them. What he did want was the bottle of Jim Beam he had on the top shelf in the kitchen. Once upstairs, he didn't even bother with a glass, twisting off the top and bringing it to his lips.

It burned and he felt a smile creeping to his lips.

Good ol' whiskey.

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There was non-stop movement outside of Castiel's head office.

Cas used his thin fingers to pry apart two blinds, watching his people get ready. He held in a sigh and turned his attention back to the man on the other line. The official request for assistance had come in 20 minutes ago and they'd already been given clearance. It had to be bad when the head of the BAU calls him directly and tells him to abandon all the other cases. Not that he could complain. After all, he'd made vague declarations about coming down and helping Dean. The phone call he was currently conducting was from Zachariah. The CIA had decided it was their business as well.

"_Any force necessary, is that understood?" _

"Of course, sir," Cas mumbled back. While he appreciated the allowances they usually didn't get, it made him nervous. For now he was hoping that there would be a quick wrap-up, despite the information flooding in. It did not bode well for his hopes that both the head of the BAU and the CIA had given him almost an all access pass to their resources-something that was usually only reserved for cases involving diplomats and high level active terrorists.

"_Keep me updated regularly on the progress of the case, Castiel. Uriel will be waiting for your call." _

Zachariah hung up before Castiel had a chance to say goodbye or even discuss the amount of information that he was free to share with the others. His gut told him that it was better if he could have full disclosure with the FBI and his own team. So far, however, he was still under strict regulations, and, until he received news to the contrary, those were the rules he would follow.

A knock rattled his window. Castiel glanced over to see Bobby jerking his head towards the team. They were all packed and ready to go. He gave a short nod back and went to gather his own things.

"Oklahoma City, huh?" Ellen asked as he exited his office, locking the door.

"It seems that Sam Winchester has gone missing," Castiel replied, hurrying down the small steps to the main floor.

"Sam Winchester? As in Dean's-?" Pamela trailed off.

"Yes. His younger brother, if I am not mistaken. Headquarters and CIA are consulting with us on this case. Preliminary reports indicate that this may be related to the bombing and C.O.L.T."

Only Bobby reacted to the acronym.

"C.O.L.T.?" Charlie asked as she scurried along with her own go bag. "I don't think I'm familiar with that. And sir, may I ask why I'm coming along?"

"We need a technical expert," Castiel responded curtly. They walked along the corridors towards the van that would take them to their private jet. "C.O.L.T. has been strictly need-to-know. I have not yet been given parameters on how much I can discuss, but you should know that it has a direct correlation to the Lucifer files. We've merely expanded the term. It appears that Sam Winchester has somehow gotten a hold of them and I fear that this may end up an issue for international security."

"International?" Ellen asked, a little confused. "That sounds bad."

"It's very bad," came the short answer from him as he slammed the door shut to the van.

Bobby slid in next to him with a grave look.

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The flight took a little under two hours, but it was already evening by the time had arrived. They left their bags in the provided car and instructed an agent to deliver their to the hotel they had been put into. Sunset framed their faces as they marched into the West Memorial building. The building had only been restored minutely. There were gray tarps flapping in the wind, barely clinging to the metal poles they were tethered to. Along the edges of the building were massive piles of bricks. Half of the floors were being held up by cranes and poles as a small group of workers worked on loading rubble into a truck. Charlie gave the building a wary look, expecting it to crumble at any moment.

They were greeted by a slightly sweating agent. Wasting no time, they were escorted to the third level up a set of back stairs that remained in tact. Rufus was waiting for them as they walked through the door. All eyes turned on them as they made hasty introductions before retreating to the chief's office. It was quiet as they settled into various corners of the room. A light flickered on when the sun finally set. Noise started to buzz a little again on the other side of the door.

"Thank you for coming," Rufus said, rubbing a hand over his forehead.

Castiel settled himself in a chair. "Of course." He pulled out a file from his briefcase. "There were things you wanted to discuss in person?"

Rufus nodded and reached behind him for a stack of manila folders. "Here, each one of you has a copy." Printed in bold read **C.O.L.T. **Castiel and Bobby looked at each other, surprised. The others looked almost gleeful. Finding out state secrets was always a little gem in their line of work. "While we were waiting for you to arrive the CIA sent us a base file that they thought would help us."

"Sam Winchester is listed in here," came the comment from Ellen after a brief examination of the file.

"As you can tell, there's a reason top brass was very eager to call you in." Rufus' eyes shifted towards Castiel, knowing full well that Dean had called him first before any of the information had made it past the OKC office desks.

Cas didn't appreciate the implication but kept quiet. To his luck, or maybe to his misfortune, the files they had been offered were nowhere near complete. They weren't even well put together. For the most part, in his opinion, they didn't even make sense without the missing pages. There was even a title that had been blacked out over the list of names. If the powers that be didn't want to share that information, it wasn't his to share. "Azazel's Children" was what the title should've read. All children whose families held connections to Lucifer's ilk. All children with destructive fires or violent deaths in their family history. He found it odd that only one child was included when some had siblings. It was something he'd only recently come to question. If he hadn't known Dean Winchester personally, he would've never even made the realization.

He knew full well that Dean and Sam had never been separated as children, and wondered why only one of them was listed.

Castiel was sure that the mild curiosity he felt himself had manifested like a violent storm in Sam. Especially if he'd had access to similar files.

"I can imagine. Hell, we didn't even know of its existence until a few hours ago." Ellen waved the manila folder in her hand for emphasis. She turned to look at Cas. "Well, most of us."

"As I mentioned," Castiel started with a small sigh, "need-to-know basis only. Now, if you wouldn't mind. I was told that you found a folder similar to this in the Winchester home?"

Rufus nodded. "It's how we thought to even ask for the files ourselves. I doubt they would've told us anything else otherwise."

Cas could feel the mistrust radiating from the other man. He didn't take it personally. Even with the employees of the government there was a certain level of skepticism regarding state secrets. None of them were ever good.

"Could we see them? We need to go over what he learned for himself, and try to profile how he would've reacted to the information."

With a small shrug, Rufus reached behind the desk and grabbed a file that had been placed in a large plastic Ziploc. "It's been processed already so I think you guys should be good touching it."

"Thank you." Castiel took the bag from the older man. "We need a place to set up. Has Agent Winchester already been brought in?"

"Dean? Yeah, we sent him home a few hours ago."

"We may have to ask him to vacate the premises," Pam spoke up as they gathered their things. They were shuffled along towards a row of desks and boards that had been prepared for them.

"We've already canvassed the apartment. No sign of forced entry, nothing out of place."

"Which is excellent," Castiel stepped in, "but we will need to have access to the apartment to profile Sam. Attempt to get into his headspace. The way he organizes his living space will be able to tell us a lot about how he functions, sometimes even better than other people's observations can."

"Makes sense, I guess." Rufus raised his eyebrow and shook his head a little. He trusted them as skilled agents but remained skeptical of what profiling actually was.

"Trust me, it's important," Bobby replied, clapping a hand onto his shoulder. "I'm gonna go ahead and assume here, that you've got all of Sam's electronics confiscated."

"Laptop, cell phone, even his damn beeper," Rufus said as he dug around for the access card for Evidence.

The key was handed to Charlie, who, with the company of two other agents, headed down to lock-up. Although it was nearing midnight, it didn't hurt to have everything set out of them in the morning. Charlie worked exceptionally quickly, as well. By morning, her program would probably already have all of Sam's electronic life ripped wide open.

"Guess someone should go kick Dean out," Rufus muttered. He turned to leave when a hand paused him.

"If you give me the address, I'm sure I could do it. I need to have a word with him as it stands."

Castiel let Rufus give him a once-over, a dubious look etched into his features, but was relieved when the old man relented.

"I suppose that works. Make sure to tell that boy that next time he needs to go through official channels. He's lucky headquarters is too flustered to kick him off the case as is. Subversion makes him look suspicious."

"I'll be sure to remind him of that."

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Castiel pulled into the apartment complex, flashing his badge at the front gate to be let in. It wasn't a fancy gated community or anything of the like, but it was nice enough to afford security. He was given a temporary parking pass to stick in his window as he pulled around to Dean's building. The air was a bit chilly and the wind blew up his jacket he stepped out of the car. Castiel pulled it tighter around himself as he ascended the stairs. His knocks on the door rang through the hallway a little louder than he'd intended. The wind picked up a little as he moved slightly from foot to foot to keep warm. Loud footsteps approached the door.

It sounded like there was fumbling with a lock before the door opened. Castiel almost stumbled back as the sharp smell of ethanol hit him. At least he had the composure not to lift his hand to cover his mouth. Dean swayed a little in front of him. The man's eyebrows came together, confused. For a moment he looked like he was about to speak. His jaw snapped back shut. Dean looked around the hallway, past and around Cas, making sure he wasn't seeing things.

"The BAU makes house calls now?" Sarcasm dripped with every slurred syllable.

"We've just arrived a few hours ago. You need to vacate the premise," Castiel replied, schooling his tone neutral.

"What? Why?" Dean snapped.

"It's a crime scene," Castiel explained, slowly.

"FBI already came through, the place is clean."

Castiel glanced past Dean at the mess that littered what he could see of the living room. He kept his snarky comment to himself. It was obvious that the other agent was not well. They stood awkwardly in the hallway for a little while, Cas staring Dean down. He didn't want to continue the conversation in the hallway, but he wasn't sure if he could be rude enough to demand entry. This wasn't exactly an official visit.

It took an awkward minute for Dean to catch up. "Shit-fuck. Sorry, look. I'm," he sighed, "come in." Castiel stepped past the other man as he door swung open in a wide arch. He observed the few pictures that lined the entryway, the row of shoes along the in-wall coat rack. For a moment he had an internal struggle on whether to take his own Oxford cap-toes off.

Dean brushed past him into the rest of the house and Castiel followed. "I wasn't excpecting..." Dean trailed off. Briskly, the younger man swept through the apartment. Bottles and paper plates disappeared into the trashcan and suddenly more of the place was visible. It almost looked nice. "God... I'm hammered," Dean whispered to himself, horrified. There was a blush creeping onto his neck and cheeks that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He couldn't even look Cas in the eye. "I didn't mean for anyone to see- just. It's been-"

"A long week," Castiel supplied, letting himself further into the apartment.

The look that the other agent gave him was nothing short of gratitude. He sat down on his couch and took a large swig of the drink he had left on the table. At least a few hours ago he'd switched to mixed drinks. It tricked him into feeling less like an alcoholic. Cas frowned a little but let it slide. Dean wasn't exactly on the clock, and honestly he couldn't say that he was either. And, as long as the apartment was vacated by morning, he supposed he could give the man a few minutes to compose himself.

"I'm not handling this very well, am I?" Dean commented to his table. "You gonna do that shrink shit on me now?"

Castiel sighed and let himself sink into one of the armchairs around the table. "It is not my place to judge your coping mechanism, Agent W- Dean."

Dean's lip twitched in a bit of a smirk. He lifted his head. "Any news on Sam?" There was a shine of desperation spreading across his eyes in a wet film. He tried to blink it away.

"We've only just arrived. We're hoping to gleam some insight into your brother's life in the morning-"

"The morning!? Why aren't you working now-!?"

"- which is why we need free reign of your apartment without someone to contaminating our findings. We need to figure out your bother's behavioral patterns," Cas continued, as if he'd never been interrupted.

"I could tell you that," Dean snarked.

"Whatever you have to tell us will be helpful, Dean, but we need an objective canvas as well," Castiel explained slowly.

Dean felt like he was being spoken to like a child. It didn't help that he had started pouting like one as well. "It's been 48 hours, Cas."

"I understand. Which is why, the sooner we get you relocated to a hotel for the night, the sooner we can begin the profile."

"Still doesn't make sense," came the grumbled reply.

"It'll have to, Dean. If all goes well this will be your job in the future."

Castiel waited quietly, blue eyes focused, as Dean collected himself. He watched as his shoulders twitched in an aborted roll and he leaned back on the sofa. Cas could see the small side-to-side movement of Dean's eyes underneath the closed lids. He looked miserable. After awhile, the green eyes blinked open again. While there was no sobriety in them, they at least held some measure of clarity. "I'm sorry. I'm just drunk."

"Do not apologize to me, Dean. I was intending on having a bit of a discussion and leaving you to your own devices, but it appears you will be requiring some assistance."

"I don't need a babysitter."

To Dean's great relief, Castiel didn't make a remark on that.

"I'll be right back, just... lemme get some things."

It took a few minutes for Dean to stumble around the apartment to gather his things. Castiel watched him, a little fascinated and impressed. For someone so clearly intoxicated, he still moved with a strange, deliberate grace. A heavy bag plopped down next to Cas' feet and Dean spread his arms out. "Where to, Chief?"

For a moment Castiel pondered if he should leave the choice up to the agent, but seeing him sway backwards once more, made the call to made the decision for him.

"Your wallet?"

Dean slapped his own back pocket, turning around to show the small bulk of the leather case. Castiel chastised himself for the lingering look he let himself indulge in as Dean pitched forward again, ass sticking out a little.

"Shall we then, Agent Winchester?"

Castiel moved forward through the apartment, trusting the other man to follow him.

"It's _Dean," _came the petulant response from behind him.

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The drive to the hotel had been rather uneventful, other than Dean's quiet mumbling. Once they'd reached their destination, things took a bit of a different turn. Somehow in the duration of the drive the alcohol had managed to completely infect Dean's system. It had been nearly impossible for them to check the agent into his own hotel room. Castiel had briefly considered just taking him to his own room to avoid the hassle but quickly dismissed the idea. There was enough gossip going around that he didn't need to add fuel to the fire.

By the time they'd made it into the elevator, the only thing keeping Dean vertical was Cas' strong hand at the small of his back. Quiet little pings were the only sounds that dotted the silence. The round button for floor 25 glowed brightly and the doors slid open. In an attempt to walk himself out, and regain some amount of dignity, Dean ended up almost pitching forward into the side door. Heat flushed across his body. He couldn't look at Cas. Well, even if he had wanted to, things had started to multiply in his vision around half an hour ago.

With the patience of a saint, at least in Dean's opinion, Castiel took him by the arm and threw Dean's bag over his own shoulder. He dug around the drunken man's pocket for the key and helped him down the hall. He guided both of them into the narrow one bedroom and gently lowered Dean to one of the beds. Dean groaned and rubbed both of his knuckles against his eyes. He twisted them until he could see little tiny white lights in the dark.

"Are you all right?"

Dean snapped his eyes open and struggled to sit up. He watched, amused, as Castiel walked around to the small mini-fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. Dean frowned, "I don't wanna pay for that."

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice in that," Castiel said, handing the ice-cold plastic bottle to Dean.

With a heavy sigh, he took the bottle and for a few minutes struggled with the cap. Castiel took pity on him and pried it open. Dean took greedy gulps, some of the water splashing down past the corners of his lips. He hadn't realized how parched he'd let himself get. He was about to thank Cas when nausea swam around his stomach. For an experienced drinker, he'd broken a cardinal rule. You don't chug water; you sip. His face paled.

"Are you all right?"

Dean felt the bed dip a little as Castiel settled himself next to him. He couldn't even shake his head, worried that it would just make the room spin worse than it already was. "Im-may have drank a little too much."

"Perhaps just a little." Dean felt the edges of his mouth curl up at Cas' tone.

"You must be a riot at parties," he commented, trying to keep his eyes open. He turned his face towards Cas and found his eyes. It was easy to focus on the sharp gaze boring in on him. If Dean were the type to wax poetics he was sure he could've found some fancy-ass stone to compare them too. But he wouldn't do it with something cliché like a sapphire. Nah, he'd pick something cool.

"Dean?"

"Just, hold on. I gotta... holly hell I drank a lot," Dean mumbled to himself but unwilling to lose sight of Cas' eyes. He flattened his palms out on the bed to try and gain some more equilibrium. "Need something to focus on."

Castiel frowned but let himself be stared at. It wasn't anything that made him uncomfortable. He did it to other people plenty enough on his own, he couldn't exactly start complaining now. The benefit to the staring was that he was able to examine the other man in peace. Until now, all of their meetings had been filled with urgency. Well, technically this one was as well, but in the moment there weren't any split second decisions to make. Just as Cas' -was beginning to feel an uncomfortable itch in his gut, Dean looked away. He couldn't be sure of Dean's orientation, and it wasn't any of his business, but he'd been gay all of his life. And Dean was very attractive. This was a problem, especially if he was going to be working with the man. He would have to be careful. Professional. Dean was an excellent agent and it would be a shame if the BAU missed out on the opportunity because he hadn't been with anyone in over five years and Dean was pretty.

He started to lift himself off of the bed. Dean's hand reached out and wrapped around his wrist. The grip was vice-tight and Cas found himself frowning. "Dean wha-"

"You think he's okay?"

There was a rustle of fabric as Dean moved to sit cross-legged. He let go of Cas' arm and cupped his head in his hands. He whispered it so quietly that Cas nearly missed it.

"Dean?"

"Sam...Do you think he's okay? I don't know what the hell those files mean, man, but. Fuck. It ain't anything good." Dean's words were muffled by his palms.

Castiel sighed. "I can't honestly answer at this point."

Dean looked up. He tried to glare but most of the impact was lessened by the crumbling strength that his eyes had possessed. "So you can't tell me fucking anything?"

"Dean... there's-, a lot that's going to be changing and happening in the next few days. I have never made an empty promise, and I have never broken my word. I do not wish to start now. We are dealing with dangerous people with a violent history. Though I'm sure you gathered that much from your own exploration of the files."

"In your _expert _opinion, then," Dean snapped, growing angry, "what the hell are the chances of me getting my brother back alive?"

"I believe," Castiel said rising fully from the bed, "that you should get some sleep Agent Winchester."

"I believe, _Agent Novak, _that you should take your advice and shove it up your ass."

"You're being very obstinate Dean. And very drunk. You should count your blessings that it's me and not some other agent with you. I doubt they would tolerate this behavior from you."

"So why are you?" Dean snapped, trying to push his limits. He attempted to get up off the bed too but found his legs in an impossible tangle for his inebriated mind to figure out. Castiel caught him and righted him on the bed.

He didn't have a comment.

"You didn't even have to come see me at my apartment. I'm sure someone would've been more than happy to give me a call."

This, Castiel did respond to, "I was hoping to discuss something with you. About your brother, and what could be happening. I was expecting you to be coherent enough for some dialogue."

Silence stretched on between them. Dean slumped down onto the mattress, covering his eyes with his arms. "Shit Cas. I'm sorry. They're never gonna let me work this case now, huh?"

Cas watched as Dean bit his lower lip angrily, face scrunching up in shame. He sighed and rubbed his temples with his calloused thumbs. "Nothing has been decided yet," he paused, "and I highly doubt that off-duty drinking would be the reason they deny you access to the case. I believe personal time isn't the bureau's business."

"You're not gonna tell 'em?" Dean asked, confused. If it had been him and he'd just had to deal with a drunken jackass for the better part of almost two hours, he would've made sure the guy never touched whatever the hell case he was working on.

"No, Dean," Castiel straightened out his tie, "we'll do our best to find Sam. It's not impossible."

Dean slid his arms way from his eyes and sighed. "I guess that's better than nothing." He stared at the BAU agent for a little bit before collecting himself. He really was being all levels of pathetic. 'God bless-, alcohol,' he thought to himself as he mentally counted how much he'd drank. Once you got past half a bottle, whiskey had a nasty habit of turning people into blubbering messes. At least he hadn't been crying. Trying to recover some composure, he attempted teasing. "So... any other agent wouldn't have put up with my shit? You like me don't you?"

Cas shook his head, but Dean could catch the amused smirk forming on one side of the agent's mouth. "About as well as I would like any other heavily intoxicated- star agent of the FBI."

"Bull, you think I'm charming," Dean joked.

"I wouldn't say charming. But you are very... unique," Cas responded, moving towards the door. "It's late; we have a lot of work to do tomorrow. I trust you won't drown in your own vomit if I leave you for the night?"

Unable to put his foot in his mouth Dean spoke out, "You could always stay to make sure." To Dean's great relief Castiel let out a small huff that sounded almost like a laugh.

"Good night, Agent Winchester. I'll be sure to send a wake up call for you when we head back to the field office."

Castiel was already out the door before Dean could come back with a coherent response. He sighed and let himself settle into the bed. He'd regret it in the morning, but all in all it wasn't the worst he'd behaved when drunk. And hey, missing and possibly dead brother was as good an excuse as any.

He fell into an uneasy sleep.


	8. Storm Clouds

**A/N: **My beta antinickname is super busy with her school and finally getting done with everything. But, it's been forever since I updated, so I'm tossing it out there.

((([[[ Beta'd Tues May 07 ]]]]]))))

**Chapter 8: **Storm Clouds

Dean woke up sore. His muscles felt tight and his movements were clunky. There was a sour taste in his mouth and his mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. For a moment, he tried going back to bed; he was way too hungover for this shit. His feeble attempts at sleep were thwarted by a loud, obnoxious ringing. The lights felt too bright as he forced his eyes open. He shut them immediately. Blindly, he groped around for his phone. A few minutes had passed and the phone finally fell silent, only to start ringing again. Dean cursed and forced himself to sit up fully. He swung his legs off the bed, marched over to where his jacket was and dug in the pocket. 'Lisa' flashed on the screen and he swallowed. Guilt crept trough him as he sat back down on the bed, and flipped open the phone.

"Hey Lis."

"_Where the hell are you?" _

"I should've called you."

"_Yeah you should have. What the hell, Dean? I don't hear a word from you, you tell me Sam is missing and then I show up at your apartment and there are cops everywhere. I've been calling you for hours." _

"I know, I fucked up. Things just moved really fast. I won't do it again."

"_No. You won't. They wouldn't even tell me anything. Just be glad I didn't bring Ben with me. Would've scared the hell out of him." _

Dean rubbed a tired hand over his face. He couldn't figure out anything to say, especially when Lisa was throwing curse words around. She generally had more eloquent ways to put things.

"_I know things have been busy, but really. Ever since the bombing-"_

"Lisa," he warned. This wasn't something he wanted to talk about.

"_No, you've been distant ever since then. We barely ever see you anymore. And then this happens." _

"I'm sorry."

There was a sigh on the other end of the line.

"Can we please talk about this later? I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"_Of course you are. You always are."_

The line went dead before Dean could say goodbye. He took in a deep breath and attempted to stretch. He let himself drop onto the bed, body bouncing a little from the force. Yeah, he knew he'd fucked up, but it wasn't exactly any top priority of his at the moment. He'd work out the kinks in his non-relationship with Lisa after he'd gotten Sam back home safe.

The bathroom light stung his eyes when he'd finally gathered enough energy to get up. He brushed his teeth and made a face at his rumpled clothing. It would have to do.

His stomach felt queasy as he stepped into the elevator, banging his head into the wall gently. The doors pinged open and he marched towards the lobby. To his surprise, Castiel was sitting on one of the couches. Before Dean could get a question out, the agent looked up and gave him an amused quirk of the lips.

"Good morning, Agent Winchester," Castiel said, folding the newspaper he was holding, and tucking it away.

"Dean," he grumbled back. "Sorry about... you know."

Cas shook his head. "Nonsense." He stood up and walked over to the small breakfast table set up in the lobby. He filled acup of coffee for Dean, which Dean accepted gratefully. One short sip later, Dean was grimacing and holding it out in front of him skeptically.

"It's hotel coffee, I'm not sure what you were expecting."

"I guess I've had worse," Dean conceded and took another tentative sip. "So, what happens now?"

"There are no new updates, but I will be taking you back to the station with me."

"I can't believe they're letting me anywhere near this case."

Dean almost visibly reared back as the sunlight struck his eyes. Castiel chuckled as he pulled out his own sunglasses.

"You will not be there to consult. We have some of our own questions for you."

"Now that I'm sober enough to answer them, I guess."

Castiel chose not to reply and led them to their rental van. The drive passed in some silence before Dean spoke up.

"You sound like you know a lot about this C.O.L.T. business."

Cas gripped the wheel tightly. "I know more than most."

"Did you know Sam was on a list? Before all of this?"

Silence.

"Did you?" Dean asked, turning in his seat to look at the agent.

"Yes," Castiel answered, tone short and clipped.

"What the hell, Cas?"

"Dean, please. I can't discuss this with you."

"Bullshit, you're the FBI, you can do just about whatever the hell you want. Don't pull that on me. We both know better."

"You're being extremely obtuse."

"My brother's been kidnapped or worse by terrorist. Yeah, my damn bad for being _obtuse. _But fine, whatever."

Dean didn't speak another word until they'd driven into the parking lot. Even then, the few words he spoke were to another agent he knew. Ignoring Castiel seemed like the most mature thing to do. They went up to the third floor together and Dean barreled past the lobby and into Rufus' office.

"Trouble in paradise?" Pamela teased, walking up and nudging Cas with her elbow.

"Pamela, please."

"Oh come on, you took him to the hotel and we didn't see you for the rest of the night. So tell me, how was it?"

Castiel rolled his eyes and pushed past her, instead preferring to check on Charlie's progress. He'd hoped there was good news for him. What he hadn't expected was that there was a person he didn't recognize sitting next to her.

"Mornin' boss," Charlie said, cheerfully. That was a good sign. She turned her chair around and pointed to the newcomer. "This is Ash. I needed a little extra help getting through all of Sam's electronic junk, so he's on loan. Seriously, how many gadgets and things did Sam Winchester need? He's almost giving me the run for my money."

"Pleasure to meet you, boss-man," Ash said, extending his hand and brushing the other through his mullet.

Castiel found himself staring at him for a few seconds too long. He coughed and cleared his throat, trying to cover for the slight. He shook the man's hand. "And? What have you found?"

"Well, not much, but there was this number, see here-" the screen read _unknown _"- we're running it through a program right now. He's been calling it non-stop and back and forth for a while now. I think the first recorded history of him getting in contact with this person was a few days after the bombing."

"Good. Agent Singer and Agent Harvelle?"

"Bobby and Ellen are already at Dean's. They left about an hour or two ago. They're waiting for you guys there."

Before they could continue their conversation, Rufus' door was thrown open. "This is bullshit!" Dean cursed, marching over to his desk. The people in his way cleared a path for him.

"It's classified, Dean. You're way too emotionally attached to his case to work it. You know protocol better than anyone. Even if, lord knows, you break it often enough," Rufus called out, walking after him. He gave onlookers a passing glare so that they would return to work.

Dean looked at Cas and frowned, opening his mouth ready to chew him out, too, when the computer pinged.

"We've got the number, now just to trace... let's keep our fingers crossed that whoever it belongs to was dumb enough to use their own name and register it," Charlie mumbled as she punched in a few commands. The computer whirred silently until a name and a picture popped up on the screen.

"Meg Masters?" she read out loud.

"Who the hell is that?" Dean asked, scooting in closer. He pushed himself towards the screen, ignoring the huff from Rufus. "I've never seen her before in my life. Who is she?" He turned to Castiel and felt his insides turn a little clammy. Cas looked pale.

"This is an unfortunate development," he managed to say. The room looked at him curiously. "Meg Masters, she has been on a wanted list or two in her lifetime. She also holds a high rank in Lucifer's circles. And it is not stupidity that gives us her name. It is a taunt," Dean's swallow was audible. "I'm afraid this complicates things. Dean, I believe it would be best if you went back to the hotel now."

"The hell I am," Dean snapped. "You tell me my brother's been making friendly with queen bitch of evil and you just want me to _sit tight?_"

"You don't really have a choice, Dean," Rufus sighed. He walked over and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. "I get that you're frustrated. I would be, too. And we're all worried for Sam. I'll let you know if anything changes and I'll look into getting you some clearance."

The fan rattled above their heads as Dean collected himself. Finally, he sighed and shook his head. His shoulders slipped a little downwards, defeated. "Fine, fine, whatever." Without turning to look at anyone in the room, he left, practically storming out. He waved off an offer for a ride and smiled thinly at the other agents he passed. He made it to his own unit car and pulled out his cellphone. Determination sparked in his eyes, now that he was alone. Rufus really didn't know him if he thought that Dean was going to sit idly by. He dialed a number.

"_Dean! To what do I owe the pleasure?" _

"Bella. I need something from you."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Castiel rubbed his fingers against his temples.

"So, Meg Masters? How bad is this?" Pamela gripped the steering wheel tightly. It wasn't often that Castiel let his body language betray nerves.

"Lucifer calls them all his children; but Meg Masters, she is special. She is old, well, not in age. She was one of the first. She answers directly to Azazel, and studied under Alistair."

"Those names don't really mean anything to me. I mean we all know Azazel 'cause he's got a bit of a temper issue with fire but..."

"And I had been hoping they never would mean much. If Meg is prowling about, it can mean nothing good for Sam. Or any of us. We can only pray that this isn't the start of something bigger. Although blowing up a federal building certainly counts as an indicator. I had been clinging to..." Castiel fell silent.

"Care to elaborate?" They turned a sharp corner, Dean and Sam's apartment complex coming into view.

"Later, when we all have a chance to sit down."

Pamela gave him a look but the let subject drop. They flashed their badges at the security guards and parked.

Meg Masters. Castiel had never encountered her in person, and most who did never lived to tell the tale. Her story was told from fragments of video footage and low ranking criminals they'd had in custody. Those who let information slip tended to have a short life span, as well, even in the protected walls of a cell. When Lucifer had been caught, she, along with many of the other top dogs, had disappeared. A few power plays by Azazel had peppered the weeks after Lucifer's arrest but that had been it. It made him ill to think of what this could all be a precursor to.

"About time you got here," Bobby greeted them, when they'd finally made it up the steps.

"Rough morning," Pamela said with a smirk, pointing at Castiel.

He scowled at her and moved into the apartment. The place looked exactly as it had last night, and now there was a chance to explore it. The hardest part was discerning what had been changes Dean had made since Sam's disappearance, and what was inherently Sam. "Have we found any papers, or anything else? Dean said that he'd found the C.O.L.T. file in his brother's room. Maybe the original sweep missed something."

Their small group dispersed to dig through Sam's room. In the mean time, Castiel let himself wander. He found himself in front of a wall with the only few pictures in the place. One he recognized as their mother. She looked beautiful in this picture, alive and warm. It felt nice to replace the memory of the charred corpse he'd seen in the files; not even her state ID photo had done her justice. His arm twitched to reach out and touch the image. The picture next to it was of their father, the decorated marine and officer.

"He was a good man."

Cas turned around to see Bobby staring contemplatively at the images. "I wasn't aware how closely associated to the Winchesters you were."

Bobby huffed and shook his head, "Not at all. But I can tell you there ain't a guy in the FBI that doesn't know the name John Winchester. Not so much anything on the boys or Mary, but John Winchester made a record for himself in the force. I think Rufus may have worked with him once overseas. I think you might just be the only person I know to whom John Winchester doesn't mean anything."

"I wouldn't say that," Castiel responded looking at the other pictures.

"The C.O.L.T. files don't count."

"I suppose you would be right," Castiel responded, a complacent smile on his face.

They spent another hour going through the apartment before his phone rang.

"Agent Novak here."

"_Castiel."_

"Agent Uriel, I'm surprised you've called," Castiel responded, waving at the rest of his team and stepping out into the hallway. He found himself a secluded area.

"_You haven't checked in yet, we were getting worried." _

"We've only just started."

"_I'm sure. But that's not why I called. CIA knows you can do your job. We want to talk about Dean Winchester." _

"Dean?" Castiel frowned. "What's he done? I know he's been trying to get onto the case but-"

"_Let him." _

"What?" His voice almost carried through the entire hall.

"_Let him join the case. The CIA wants him as an active participant in the case with access to the information that you do."_

"It's not my place to question orders-"

"_No it's not."_

"But is that wise? Dean has a temper and when he finds out-"

"_You will handle it." _

Castiel wanted to sigh and wrangle some sense into whomever this order was coming from. It was reckless and careless. What those files held in them were horrors after horrors. And if Dean were to find out what his family had done to get on Lucifer's radar... Castiel didn't seriously think Dean was the type to abandon his duties as an officer, but it wouldn't surprise him if he went rogue.

"_Castiel?" _

"I will do what I must. I'll be in touch."

Wanting nothing more than to go back to a few months ago, when things were simpler, he walked back into the apartment. He excused himself to his team and told them to keep going without him. Only Bobby gave him a skeptical look, to which Castiel shook his head. Agent Singer let it go but the message behind his eyes meant they would talk about it later, which was just fine by him; he'd need someone to consult with. First thing's first: he had to go fetch Dean and let him know of the new changes. Maybe privately ease him through some of the papers and gauge his reaction as they went. Just because he had been instructed to allow him access to the information didn't mean he had to dump it on him all in one go. Maybe, just maybe, if he could play damage control right things would work out.

Of course, all of these good intentions were shot straight out of the window when, just as he was arriving at the hotel, he saw Dean sprinting towards the hotel parking lot. Frowning, he got out of his own car and took off after him. A little bit of panic seared through his chest as he noticed that Dean was heading for his squad car. He barely made it to the door as Dean slid in.

"What the hell, Cas!" Dean barked, slamming his head on the window in surprise. His chest heaved and he had his gun half drawn out of its holster. "You don't just fucking slide into a cop car like that without some notice!"

Cas frowned and clipped his seat belt in, "I did try and call your name. You were going too fast. More than anything, what are you doing that you didn't notice someone running after you? You're a better agent than that."

"Get out of the car, Cas."

"Dean." His name came out like a warning.

"I'm serious, Cas, get the fuck out of my car."

"Not until you tell me what you're doing. Because it seems to me like you are about to do something very stupid."

"Shows how much you know," Dean spat back, finally relaxing a little. His fingers were still drumming on the wheel nervously.

"Would you calm down and talk to me if I told you that you've been given clearance on the case?"

"Huh?"

Castiel sighed and wished for a vacation. He leaned against his own door and stared at Dean. At the very least he wasn't reaching for the key and his shoulders had dropped. They weren't going to be heading anywhere in a hurry.

"Yes, the CIA has given you clearance to be an active agent on this case."

"Oh," Dean breathed, "good then. It would've actually really sucked to have broken protocol."

"Excuse me?" He sat up straighter in the seat, concerned.

"You're either coming or not, but I'm going to give someone a little visit."

"Of course I'm coming. Just because you've had clearance doesn't mean you know anything about what's going on, or how dangerous of a situation this really is. You know nothing."

"Then enlighten me," Dean quipped, turning the car on and backing out of the parking spot.

"I'll have to. And pray tell, _Dean, _who are we visiting?"

A dark smile spread over the other agent's features. "Meg Masters."


	9. Load My Shotgun

**A/N: **My prayers and junk for those of you who are going through finals right now. I am and it's riding my ass. I'm publishing again (end re-uploading the beta'd version later) since we had such a traumatic episode last time and I really wanted to get this out there.

ALSO; HAPPY MOTHERS DAY. For those of you who have good relationships with their mom's, go give her a hug for me, if she's passed on, I give you my love and prayers that they're okay in whatever afterlife, and for those of you whose mom's were bad people, it's okay if you feel bitter and awful about today because you didn't have that in your life.

**Edited: **beta'd May 27th by AntiNickname!

**Chapter 9: Load My Shotgun**

"Castiel just called," Bobby told the group, flipping his phone shut. "Said he and Dean are checking something out. Apparently the CIA approved his involvement before he got his badge revoked."

Rufus cursed and leaned against one of the desks in the floor area of the unit office. In the amount of time it had taken Cas to find and wrangle in Dean, the rest of the team had made it back to base, having found nothing else at the apartment. Rufus should have known better. Instead of letting the boy wander off, there were about a thousand pairs of handcuffs at the field office that he could've put to use. "Not that I'm not glad that the boy's hide's been saved, but what the hell is the CIA doing granting him access anyway?"

"You know I never trusted the CIA," Ash added into the conversation. He received a short glare from both men and raised his hands in surrender. He turned back to the computer to continue running traces with Charlie. It was fairly boring work, and in between they'd each pulled up a small, code-based gaming screen. He returned back to it with a shrug at Charlie.

The atmosphere soured even more as Gordon came strolling in. Rufus frowned and immediately righted himself off of the desk. Gordon smiled at the group and even Ellen felt wonky at the look. There was something unpleasant about him.

"Chief, just the guy I wanted to see," Gordon said. He clasped his hands together in front of him cheerfully, a cloud clap echoed across the room after.

"Agent Walker," Rufus nodded, "the BAU team. I'm not sure you've met."

"No, we haven't." Gordon turned to give them each a long look. "It's actually what I'm here about. I hear Sam Winchester's gotten himself in on the wrong side of the law and Dean's following."

"Sam Winchester is missing and Dean is an authorized member for the task force assigned to the case," Rufus replied. His tone was clipped and short. Since he'd paired Gordon and Dean up there'd been some strife between them, and it hadn't gotten any easier when Dean left for Virginia to train. If anything, Gordon had started to develop a paranoid suspicion about his 'partner'. They were all pegging it as jealousy. Getting handpicked by the BAU? It didn't happen often. Gordon was competitive enough to be difficult on his own but couple that with his worrying personality? It spelled trouble.

"Family going after family? You know, it's really not all adding up," Gordon replied, pulling up a chair and sitting in it. His smile was oily. "There's no way Dean hasn't been keeping tabs on that kid. He's got a serious issue over it and we all know it."

"Dean was at Quantico at the time, under Agent Novak's and my supervision," Bobby growled. He'd heard of the guy before, and his record. He wasn't a fan.

"Speaking of Agent Novak, where is he?"

"In the field."

"With Dean?" Gordon smirked.

"Agent Walker, my office. Now," Rufus chimed in. He'd seen the way the other man's shoulders had started to stiffen. It was usually followed by a grin and some highly inappropriate remarks.

"Yes, sir. But, you guys sure we shouldn't be hunting them down? Rouge cops aren't really cops anymore. They're just one more criminal to catch."

The team watched as the two men disappeared behind a slammed door.

"He's incredibly rude," Charlie said. She turned to her computer and shook her head. "Is he always like that?"

"All the damn time," Ash told her, rolling his eyes. He tapped at the computer screen as more pieces of Meg's past and crime scene photos were gathering. "Jesus, Sam. What the hell did you get into?"

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Sam wrung his hands together and took a deep breath. He figured he'd been there two days. How long had the others had been there? He had no clue. But, at least now that his head had cleared a little, he could sort of pull together a few ideas.

Before all this, he'd been driving out to meet a new contact. Someone Meg had given him. He shook his head and had to stop the laughter from coming out. His other companions would think he was crazy but really, what had he been thinking? He'd gathered enough from the files that she wasn't squeaky clean. Anger had made him get in over his head. Anger had made him cocky. Made him think he could've played her. He hadn't been expecting the hard knock to the head and the rude wake up call.

He figured by the climate he wasn't too far. Some Oklahoma small town. He was praying that they hadn't left the state but couldn't guarantee it. Spring was rolling in the same everywhere in the area and it wasn't like he even knew how long he'd been out. Best case they weren't too far but the lack of cell reception concerned him. He'd been shocked to find that he'd been left his phone. They obviously weren't worried about him calling for help.

There were only a few buildings in the area. It looked like an industrialized farm town, maybe two or three houses populated. A few shacks, a huge farm, some shops, a couple of houses, and a few storage barns. Or so he guessed; he hadn't wandered too far from what the places excuse for a "town square" was. Re-grouping his thoughts seemed like step a before they started wandering.

He looked up at his companions. Andy, he recognized. While running around a little more than obsessed in Dean's absence, he'd managed to track down other names on the list he'd found himself on. And Ava. Though, he didn't know either of them very well. Then there were the two he'd never seen before: Jake and Lily. So far, judging by the stories they'd swapped, Sam had been the only one that had gone seeking for answers or even been aware of anything too terrible going on. Jake had last fallen asleep at his bunker at Fort Sill, having come back from Afghanistan for re-training. Lily didn't feel like sharing, Andy had been high out of his mind, and then Ava. Well, Ava seemed the most coherent, saying she'd had a feeling like she was being stalked. But, she'd been a few states over at that time.

"You seem to be a lot more in the know about what's going on."

Sam looked up at Jake and ran a hand through his hair. "It's really convoluted and stupid, I really don't think you'd even believe me."

"Try us," Lily snapped, hugging her arms close to her body.

"Well," Sam sighed. Even he wasn't one hundred percent in on it. What he had gathered hadn't been anything nice. "Well, for one, we're 'special'. We all come from 'chosen families'."

"Chosen by who?" Jake asked.

"This guy, I think, his name's-" A loud bang interrupted him.

They all stood up quickly, huddling a little closer. Sam squared his shoulders and bent down to grab a piece of broken wood. He and Jake glanced around before starting to inch towards the house on the opposite side of the small street. "You guys looked everywhere, right?" Sam whispered.

"Yeah, first thing I did: Scout the place," Jake told him.

Hearts hammering in their chests, the other three staying further behind, they burst in the abandoned house. It looked like nothing had really been moved. There was an overturned chair but that was about it. Then they heard the buzzing. Sam rounded the corner into the living room of the place to see a TV playing white static.

"That wasn't on before."

The others filed in after them. There was a VHS sitting on top of the TV, a small area wiped clean of dust like it had just been done.

"I guess we should watch it?" Andy offered, scooting around Sam and peering at it.

"Because home movies are going to help so much right now," Lily snapped. She stayed in the room despite her protest.

Sam slid the tape in; the VCR even looked new. The screen sat black for a moment before flickering to life. There was a man in a dark room, a single low hanging light illuminating him. There was a sound of shuffling, a pause and a laugh, then brighter lights flickered on.

"_Sorry, kids! My mistake, should've had that on before I even hit record. I know at least some of you have heard of me, maybe even seen me on TV -now not included," _the man winked, _"Azazel. And I have some instructions for you." _

Sam slid into the closest chair, feeling clammy.

"_You guys are really a special bunch. You have your parents to thank for that, if you make it out, give 'em a big hug when you get back. Well, those families we didn't burn to a crisp. Nasty paperwork issues and loose ends to tie up. Bureaucracy. You know how it is. No worries, new recruits, at least one of you, is going to make it out of here just fine. Think of it as tryouts! Get a few rewards here and there, and get to helping on getting Big Daddy out. Something you also get to thank your parents for, they really stepped in it this time when they made their choices. It's okay if you're confused! And you might stay that way for a little. I'd be a terribly awful criminal if I told you all of it. And isn't that half the fun self-discovery. Oh, and try to stay within the parameters." _

The TV started hissing as the tape came to an end. They stared at the screen trying to take it all in.

"He's insane," Andy whispered, eyes wide.

"Oh my god, this has... this can't be real." Ava turned towards Sam, tears brimming in her eyes. "You-your brother, he's FBI, right? He'll find us."

"What did he mean by parameters?"

Sam opened his mouth to respond to Jake but quickly shut it. He scanned the room and took a few confused steps towards each door. "Where's Lily?"

Their faces paled as they rushed out of the house, calling her name. They made it towards the edge of town square, where the large windmill stood, to find her swinging from it, eyes swelling inside of her head from the pressure of the rope. Ava screamed as Jake and Sam raced forward to try and climb the tower to get her down.

She was dead before they made it halfway up.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Dean drummed his fingers on the wheel of the car and kept checking the phone in his lap. They'd been driving for a few hours now, going further and further away from city limits. The instructions he'd received hadn't been very clear. Apparently the place the little bitch was hiding out at wasn't on a lot of maps, or at least, it wasn't an address you could punch into a GPS. He'd been sent a scroll through map onto his phone. Next time he went and got his information, he'd make sure to ask how long the damn drive would take.

"How do you even know where we're going?" Castiel had been blessedly silent since calling the team but finally had to speak up.

Dean glared at him and white knuckled the wheel. "Connections."

"Dean-"

"Cas, not right now. If you're not gonna be helpful, I'll toss you out of the damn car."

Castiel sighed but let himself fall silent for two seconds. He watched the scenery fly by as clouds rolled in with the evening. It was an idiotic idea to go hunting for internationally wanted terrorists, without back up, when in a few hours it would be nightfall. "This can jeopardize your entire career."

"Which is worth a helluva lot less to me than my brother's life."

Castiel fell silent again and resisted the urge to sigh. He understood the drive, he really did. While he couldn't remember much of his own siblings, he treated his team the same way. Well, usually a little less tempered. But, he wanted to hold onto the idea that there was a better way to go about it. Staring at Dean while he drove made him think. He'd gotten to the point where he was figuring that they could be friends, and was willing to let it develop, especially if Dean was going to be on their team. The rest of the team liked him well enough and the group wouldn't operate if they didn't treat each other like family- within the rules set by the bureau of course. While he and Dean hadn't talked obsessively, they'd shared enough with each other (and Dean to the other members, as well) that they'd slowly been expecting to carve up a new place for him in their lives. What Dean was doing-not just risking his life, but the renegade act? It could cost him the job. Castiel hadn't realized just how much he'd actually been planning Dean's addition to their team. It would be hard to find as qualified of a replacement for the job, and certainly not one as charming as one as Dean.

"If we catch a few bad guys, bring Sam home, they'll overlook it," Dean said, glancing over at Cas. It wasn't that he was completely unconcerned; he'd already been saving apartments online to look through, tentative as it had been. It was serious for him, but... "Come on, give us a smile," Dean tried again.

"The BAU may not be so kind."

"You'll put in a good word for me though, right Cas?" Dean winked.

Castiel grumbled at Dean and pointedly looked out the window, but even in the reflection Dean could see there was a small, stubborn, smile forming.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

They'd gathered into one of the smaller houses after finding some candles. Sam and Jake agreed to go bury Lily together as they couldn't exactly just leave her to rot. They left Ava and Andy there with rusted poles they'd found and instructions to lock the doors. It took them a long time to figure out how to carry her. Neither of them wanted to throw her over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She deserved more respect than that. Eventually, they'd agreed on finding an old sheet, wrapping her up, and carrying her towards what used to be a flowerbed.

They dug in silence.

It was exhausting work, and they had to let themselves take a small break. Sitting down, sipping water they'd gathered at a nearby well in antique mugs, they talked a little.

"That girl, Ava, she mentioned your brother's FBI."

Sam looked up and nodded. "Yeah, he's uh, at the field office in Oklahoma City."

"We've been missing for awhile now I think, probably stretching on 48 hours depending on the location. We'll be in the system."

"I thought about that," Sam muttered and rubbed a tired hand over his face. "But I haven't exactly been up front with my brother lately."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It was a dumb thing to do but. The reason I know a lot more about what the hell is going on here is because I hadn't exactly been honest about the ways I got the information. Especially to my brother."

"Well share with the class. It's all our lives at stake here."

"He kept mentioning parents, in the video. And my... parents. Well... my mom died in a fire. They told us it was accident but I looked in the files and it said arson for sure. They got a lot of other names in there too, and records even I couldn't get to. Records that were labeled 'Lucifer'. I think maybe our parents knew something, maybe they-"

"My mother's still alive, so I don't know how well that theory's going to pan out," Jake commented softly, starting to dig at the grave more.

"Well that's good," Sam said, quieting. He was pretty sure he was on the right track about why their families were picked, but he wasn't about to go insulting someone else's mother. Then again, maybe it wasn't even anything bad. He'd toyed with the idea of some insane witness protection program thing but then laughed it off. Maybe if he stopped watching so many crime movies he'd have better ideas. Now, digging in an old dirt patch to bury a woman barely 20 years old, he was more inclined to believe it. Maybe TV got it right for once.

They finally managed to put her in the shallow grave and covered her in dirt. They marched back to the house they'd set up camp at only to find Ava missing and Andy's chest ripped open on the floor.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

The sun was starting to set when they finally ran out of map. They were on the outskirts of nowhere, driving up a winding hill. At the top of it was a modest, mansion-esque house. Well, about as modest as they could come. They'd turned their lights off as they climbed the road, Castiel taking the time to attempt to send their location to the team. They'd been making headway as they drove.

Castiel hadn't shared all of this information with Dean yet, hoping to keep him calm. They'd finally gotten a major break. It just didn't show in Sam's favor. Photos- thousands of them - of Sam and Meg having dinner discussions, snippets of recorded phone calls had been unearthed, and the most incriminating piece of all: the lines Sam had gone through when he'd first attempted to get the files. A few bribe attempts had been recorded until the line of inquiry stopped. Then, a week later, they'd been given to him for free. Ellen had made some phone calls up the line and no one could tell how high the authorization had come to give Sam Winchester legal clearance to the files. Every lawyer, every judge they hit, had higher up to go to until they hit classified. It put Sam in a very suspicious light.

Especially if the rumors popping up, and the fear of it being a recruitment drive, were true. Ash and Charlie had gathered up terrifyingly huge amounts of people that had been reported missing. Only a few had been found and they'd all been dead. It didn't help that the further they had dug into some of the history of the people reported missing, the more violence they'd discovered. Some with heavy relations to those whose names had never even once come up on the original C.O.L.T. files.

"This is it. Cas."

Dean brought the car to a halt and dug into holster for his gun. Castiel shook his head and hissed at him, "We need to wait for back up."

"We don't have time for that. Either you're in or you're not," Dean snapped back. He slid out of the car and let the door slam shut gently before sliding the safety off of his gun and pulling the clip.

Castiel had no choice but to follow, coming up to him quickly and keeping his gun aimed towards the ground. No need to point if you weren't ready to shoot. "Fine. Are you sure this is the right place?"

"It had better be, I paid enough money for it."

"Excuse me?"

Dean didn't even bother with a response as they snuck up the gravel pathway. Large windows lit the slowly darkening yard. They could hear some music playing from the inside of the house as they edged closer to the main door. "Fine, Dean, but at least let's do a soft entry so as not to-"

There was a loud series of bangs as Dean fired into the handle on the door. He blew a hole clear through the lock and marched forward, yanking the door open and announcing himself as FBI. Castiel cursed every fate in the world for having put him with Dean Winchester. He promised to take it back later when they were safe.

Castiel rounded the door and stepped in, gun raised, only to find one pointing right back at him.

"Meg Masters," he muttered at the woman.

The hallway leading in from the doorway was long. She sat on top of a dinner table, a champagne glass in one hand, a gun in the other. And from the look of it, it packed more firepower than theirs did. Dean was frozen in the entryway. His hands were almost shaking from trying not to empty his clip into her. "Nice dye job," he hissed out.

"Thanks. I know they say blondes have more fun, but..." she shrugged and grinned, toying with her hair. "Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe! The rumors are true- you really are as gorgeous as your mother. Welcome to my home, although it doesn't bode well for our relationship that you're already destroying my furniture." She took a sip of her champagne. "Castiel, I've been waiting to meet you, too. You're kind of a big deal around some circles."

Castiel swallowed and prayed: one, for Dean not to lose his temper- all they had to wait for was back up; two, that what Meg was insinuating had nothing to do with his criminal roots. The last was more of a last effort prayer. Of course she knew. As high up the chain of command that she was, she would have had to. Besides, Lucifer probably shared that information freely. But, perhaps, maybe Castiel had been too young to be remembered. That ray of hope lasted even half the time; his family was dead because they _had_ remembered him.

Meg slid off the table and stepped forward.

"Not one step forward or I shoot you where you stand, you skuzzy bitch."

"No you won't," Meg purred, keeping her arm straight, seemingly ignorant of the guns weight. It looked large for her small wrists, but years of experience had taught Castiel not to underestimate the strength of a woman based on her size.

"Try me," Dean bit back, "and don't you know you're not supposed to handle weapons under the influence?"

"I like this, we're flirting," Meg laughed and Dean stepped forward, finger twitching on the trigger.

"Dean! No," Castiel stepped forward, grabbing his arm. It took a lot of maneuvering to keep his own gun trained at her while he pulled Dean back.

"She's the only one who can help us," Castiel hissed at him. "We can't afford to lose our temper."

Dean's neck was starting to redden from his impressive amount of self-control. Anger rushed through him in waves, eating him alive and burning everything else to a crisp.

"My knight in shining armor, how sweet. Champagne?" She asked, stepping a little further back into the rest of the house.

Dean was about to snap at her again when Castiel started forcing them to move further in with her. Maybe, if they were lucky, she would slip up. But what he was really hoping for was carelessness. Some paper left out, some clue. An unexpected maid they could use to their advantage, or someone easier to question. "No, thank you. What do you want with Sam Winchester?"

"You mean what do we want with all of them."

"All of them?"

"The battle royale of the century," she quickly glanced at her gun to make sure the safety was still slid off. "And that adorable little moose of yours is the star player. I will say Dean, that mother of yours managed to instill some damn good manners into him before she fried up."

Castiel's grip on Dean's arm started to cut off circulation.

"What are you trying to make him do?"

"Make him? We're not going to _make _him do anything. Oh no, it'll be all him big boy."

"You dirty little-"

"Dean," Cas warned as Meg fiddled with one hand to pour herself another glass.

"Really, this is your parents' fault. They fucked up and they marked you, all the better for us in the long run, honestly. But, I almost really just want to tell you to see the look on your face," she laughed and her eyes twinkled with it.

Dean nearly threw his gun to the floor just to take a swing at her, but Cas pushed him to the side again, nearly bumping him into a table. Something rattled on it and fell to the floor, but Castiel had a gun to worry about. "If you cooperate, you may not get the death penalty for your crimes."

"Death penalty? Honey, I'll never even see the inside of a cell."

The table rattled a little as Dean moved against and then something in Meg's pocket rang. Dean's eyes narrowed into laser points as he moved forward. Meg pulled the trigger and Castiel had to curse and duck, sprinting behind one of the decorative cut outs in the wall. He yanked the stand back and scooted into the opening, barely big enough to fit him. He heard a few more blasts, two of which grazed the wall next to him. When it died down, he could hear harsh panting breaths, high pitched laughter, and then silence after the sound of another gun shot.

"Dean!?" Castiel yelled out, braving his head out of the small protective space. His eyes caught Dean kneeling over a bleeding Meg. He rushed forward, cursing. "Damn it, Dean!"

He dug into his pocket for his cell phone as he moved down, putting pressure over the gut wound that was bubbling blood over the floor. He managed to dial their private emergency line- the FBI would be faster than the local ER- while Dean fumbled with Meg's phone.

"Got it," Dean whispered, getting up. Cas only had a chance to grab a name or two off of the small local map on it before Dean was taking off and out of the door.

As Castiel knelt on the parlor floor, hands covered in blood, he yelled after Dean. Meg coughed and a small fleck of blood spittled from her mouth as he heard Dean start up the car and tear down gravel lane.

He called Dean's name one last time before the sound disappeared, and then turned his focus on keeping Meg alive long enough to survive for trial.


	10. Bang Bang

**A/N: **Sorry it's taken so long but at least it's been beta'd before publish this time! Hope ya'll are enjoying your summer!

**Chapter 10: **Bang Bang

"Where have you been?" Sam snapped at Ava.

She cowered into herself and wrapped her arms around her body. Her eyes kept nervously darting to the remnants of Andy on the floor. "I- I just stepped out, just for a second."

"How could you not noticed this? He must've been screaming bloody murder."

Tears burst over her eyes and down her cheeks as Sam grilled her. Admittedly, Sam and Jake hadn't heard much either, but they had been pretty far out, and digging a grave. They hadn't yet had a chance to examine Andy's body; it was too big of a mess, and finding Ava had been priority. Jake had still been out looking for her when she'd stumbled back in.

A sigh whooshed past Sam's lips as he reeled himself back in. He grabbed her gently by the arm and led her outside of the little house, away from the gore. They walked to the center of the street and Sam turned to her again. "You must have heard something."

"I was just- I couldn't. Just water, and then-"

"Ava... stop lying to me." He tightened his grip on her arm.

"I'm not lying! I swear I didn't!"

"That doesn't happen on accident!"

Her body shook a little as her lower limp trembled. She let out a few pathetic sobs and whimpers before freezing. She threw Sam's arm off of her and stepped back. After taking in a deep breath and wiping a tear from her eye she smiled at him. "I was starting to get tired."

"Excuse me?"

Ava laughed and continued to dab at her eyes. She laughed again and rolled her shoulders. "And just so you know, he didn't scream bloody murder. He was dead before he hit the floor."

"Ava-" Sam left the sentence open-ended, mouth wide.

"I tell ya, wasn't easy. In the movies, busting a rib or two open is easy but, hell. You really gotta put your back into it."

"But why?"

"You're a little slower than I thought you were. I've been here for months, Sam, _months._"

Understanding slowly crept up his spine. It crawled along quietly and gently, leaving shivers as it went, until the knowledge spread over him in a cold rush.

"Lily wasn't me, though. I will say that. But I coulda had her too. Trust me, I'm reigning champion!"

"What the hell, Ava? What happened to you?"

"What happened to me? You have no _clue _do you? How special we really are." She smirked and stepped back, opening her arms wide. "We're chosen children, and the things we could accomplish if we just let go of some things. Man."

"That still doesn't explain to me why," Sam snapped back. He knew he wasn't carrying a switchblade or anything on him but slowly felt around his jeans for a weapon anyway.

"You really wanna know? About Azazel and Lucifer? Our parents, they-"

A soft bang erupted in the courtyard. Ava's mouth hung open. A little blood slowly pooled out of it, over her lip, and slipped down her chin. Her eyes were wide and Sam watched as life crept out of them. As she crumbled he could see a clear bullet hole at her temple. A sniper round. Panic erupted over him as he flew into action. Keeping his eyes on his surroundings, he tripped his way back in the house with Andy's corpse. The wooden walls of the old crumbling building wouldn't do much good against certain rounds but he was hoping against hope they hadn't splurged on heavy military grade ammunition.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"How the hell did you manage to lose him?" Rufus barked, red in the face.

Castiel sighed, wiping his hands as clean as he could with a towel. He was sitting on the back edge of an ambulance after being checked out. They had to be sure the massive amount of blood on him wasn't his. He sighed and gave up cleaning his hands. It was too hard to do without water to dissolve the dried blood. "I didn't lose him, he took off. And for your information, Agent Turner, I was busy keeping an internationally wanted terrorist alive long enough to bring in for questioning. Seemed a little important at the time."

Rufus bit his tongue at that. If it had been him he would've done the same exact thing. But it hadn't been him so he had the luxury of griping about it. Just when they'd gotten Dean cleared and out of the hot water, that damn fool had to go throw himself back in the boiling pot. "You didn't happen to catch where he was headed?"

"A little," Cas admitted. He smiled gratefully as someone came over with a water bottle. He resumed cleaning his hands. "Dean took off with her phone, so we can't ask our techies to look at it or trace it since we have nothing registered to her. But I did get a glance at a few names and a vague location. I need a map."

Rufus nodded and went off, barking orders as he strode through the barrage of flashing lights. They were starting to bord up the place and police line it. The first few rounds of CSIs had already gone in, canvassing and marking off spots. Cas thumped his head against the door of the ambulance, closing his eyes. Cas struggled to remember the last time he'd had so many headaches in his life. He struggled to justify the trouble to himself. _Just because you have a silly crush on the new agent doesn't mean you can let him get away this all this. _He firmly shut that side of his brain up. He was nothing if professional, no matter the situation. Despite his protests to himself, his stomach couldn't help but clench. There was a saying that once you put something like that into words, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't take it back? Cas made a vow never to say it out loud, not even in the mirror to himself. He wouldn't even write it down anywhere.

"How you holdin' up?"

Castiel felt his mouth turn into a tired smile. He opened his eyes to see Bobby standing in front of him with a steaming mug of coffee. "I've seen better days. Thank you Agent Singer."

"Don't mention it. Figure we gotta get you pumped full o' as much caffeine if we're gonna catch up with that boy. Rufus tells me the kid's like a bat outta hell when he gets going."

"I believe that would be an accurate comparison to make." He took a sip of his coffee. "I'm just waiting for a map and then we can send out teams to different locations, make a geographical profile based on what we know about Azazel and Meg, and try to narrow it down a central area."

"Easier said than done," Bobby said, looking over the chaotic movements of the FBI around them. "We've been looking at the area since you guys left on your little runaway mission." Cas made a noise of protest. He had done no such thing. "You guys drove pretty far out, and past here? Woods and trees and miles of nothing. It'll be like combing through a desert but not as arid."

"Excellent," Castiel muttered, adopting an unusual tone of sarcasm. "Thank you, Dean Winchester, wherever you are." He sent a glare to the skies, hoping somehow the wind would carry it to him.

They sat in silence for a moment as time ticked by. It had only been a few minutes, but every second counted in a mission like this, especially with the massive head start that Dean had gotten. Which had him thinking. "Singer. What do you think Dean's chances of transfer are after this?"

"Hm?" Bobby's eyebrows rose in surprise. It seemed like an odd moment to bring it up. "What do you mean?"

"So far we've managed to keep him out of trouble, but I'm not sure the bureau will overlook this."

"We can worry about that later. First, let's concentrate on getting the boy back." Bobby clapped his arm warmly on Cas' shoulder just as Rufus was striding up.

"I tried to get as big of a map, that still had this god forsaken house on it. I found two. Now have at it." He thrust the two maps at Cas.

Nodding, Cas collected them and set down his coffee cup. Along with the two other agents, they walked over the SUV where the rest of his team was waiting, just having finished a sweep of the house.

"Like the color," Pam teased, eying the blood that had soaked all over his shirt.

Castiel ignored the teasing and laid out both of the maps on the hood of the car, asking for the others to illuminate them with their flashlights. He ran his fingers slowly across all of the cities and points of interest that he could see. Depending on the map size, the location he was looking for could be a huge dot or just an italicized scribble somewhere in a corner. His stomach knotted in worry as he started on the second map, not finding anything on the first. If they couldn't get there in time... if they couldn't find them at all...

Relief flooded through him.

"That's it, that's a name I saw on there." He ran his finger around the map to try and find the second point he'd seen. "There, that one, too. Somewhere along here is where they're keeping Sam and the others."

"The others?" Ellen asked, brows coming together in confusion.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Dean's heart hammered in his chest as he sped down the dirt road. He'd been on the road for nearly an hour now and he didn't feel any closer to Sam. The road twisted and turned, the car had teetered a little as he'd taken the curves too fast. Police cars drove nothing like his baby did. Not for the first time that day, he wished he would've taken his baby out instead of the hunk of metal he was stuck in. Beads of sweat were collecting on his forehead and his neck as imagination gave him twisted and broken images of Sam.

Dead Sam.

"Not today," he hissed out as he checked the GPS mad he'd pull up from Meg's phone. He'd told himself he was going to start appreciating technology more when they all made it out of it okay. If it hadn't been for the custom upload that had indicators on it, there would've been no hope for him finding the place.

His eyes continuously bounced between the road, the map, the clock, and the disabled police radio. He'd originally left it on, but once chatter started coming through for all vehicles to report to Meg's house, he'd nearly ripped it off, forgetting that all you had to do was push a button. The speaker to it dangled towards the floor, swinging with every bump that Dean hit.

The only real downside, excluding the fact that every second that passed was another second Sam could be dead, was that the silence left him in his own head. He knew for a fact he wasn't going to get any radio stations out here and it seemed inappropriate to jam out to Led Zeppelin while people were at risk. So, his inner voice was it for company. And Dean's inner voice could be kind of a dickbag sometimes, in that it reminded him of everything he'd rather not think about.

The first thing that his brain reminded him of, after his adrenaline had calmed down a little, was that he'd just left Cas alone with a terrorist. Yes, she had been bleeding out on the floor, but that didn't guarantee anything. Another agent's safety was always top priority, and you don't leave a man behind. He'd never done that before. Guilt made his mouth taste like cotton as he tried to swallow it down. He tried to comfort himself with the fact that Castiel was an experienced agent. He worked as the head of the BAU, on an active squad. He probably did this type of stuff all the time, and he seemed fine. More than fine. Downright handsome. Dean scolded his brain for the thought, and he could've sworn his inner self had stuck out its tongue at him. What was he? Five? _Yes. _

The second was what would fall on Rufus and his 'team'. The Gang Squad operated as a succinct unit. When one of them suffered, they all suffered. He was breaking about a thousand protocols, and he knew it (never let anyone say that Dean didn't know the rules; he just preferred to ignore them). Which would mean a heavy crackdown from headquarters. Probably some retraining for all of the agents, which was always a field trip. The paper work would increase. The better the office was, the lazier they were able to be about recording their every single move. And they had been a damn fine office. Dean had probably just sunken their reputation down the drain. But most importantly, what would happen to Rufus? If everything was good, he'd simply get a reprimand, Dean would be suspended or re-assigned, and life would go on. But that wasn't always the case. The FBI was strict on chain of command and following it.

This wasn't something that they'd let slide.

Finally, Meg's phone beeped at him, signaling that he'd arrived. There were trees around him and a little hill, but other than that not much else. He turned the car off and loaded a new clip into his gun. He didn't have time to recount how many bullets were left. A good agent would've remembered how many rounds he'd fired but he wasn't exactly being a 'good agent' at the moment. He silenced the phone and somehow managed to dim the screen before sliding it into his pocket. Dean made sure to check the extra gun he kept in his boot, too, before sliding out of the car.

Gently, he let the door shut, pushing against it and then manually locking it. He fumbled around for a flashlight for a minute before attaching the gun mount. A part of him wanted to turn it off, but even he knew it was suicide to go fumbling around in the woods in the dark. He wished that night vision goggles were standard in every cop car, but most of the time they weren't needed, so Dean was stuck inching through the woods and up the hill. If nothing else, he wanted to get to higher ground to survey the area.

It was difficult for him to hold in his curses as branches continued to swipe him. He'd never been the most elegant in the woods; it's why he worked a city beat. His temper had started to roar underneath his skin by the time he finally made it to the top. His heart stopped when he saw a few dim lights down in the valley below. He turned his flashlight off and crouched, inching towards the edge of the hill. The moon was starting to peek out from beneath the clouds. There was what seemed like a small - very small- abandoned town sitting there. From his spot he could see someone lying down in the middle of the street, motionless.

A cold freeze enveloped him as he fumbled for the small set of binoculars he'd put in his pack. "Please don't be Sam, please don't be Sam, please don't be Sam," he muttered, putting them to his eyes.

It was a woman.

"Her name is Ava."

Dean froze as he felt something cold and round touch the back of his head.

"But you move a single muscle, and it will be Sam lying next to her."

Every instinct in his body told him to whip around and grab the gun. Most of the time, when a gun was pointed at the back of your head, the guy wasn't actually prepared to shoot. You could slide your head to the side, grab the muzzle of the gun and yank. The most you'd lose was generally a finger or an ear. But it didn't feel like the man behind him was bluffing. Dean's hands clenched tighter around his own gun, arm muscles twitching, ready to pull the trigger.

"You might wanna put that down too," the man said, nudging Dean's arm with his knee. "We wouldn't want any accidents."

There wasn't a single snarky remark left in Dean as he lowered his gun to the leaf-covered ground. There would be dirt in the barrel in the morning. If this had been any other situation, the first thing he would've made sure to do is to keep himself armed. But this was Sam they were talking about, and besides he had-

"And the one in your boot, too, Agent Winchester."

Dean cursed and slowly moved his hand to his pant leg. He slid it up gently so as not to make any sudden movements and let it flop to the ground with a thud. He finally found something to say. "You've got an advantage over me, man. And I'm not talking about the gun. You know who I am but I don't know who-"

"Azazel, Agent Winchester. My name is Azazel. It's an honor to make your acquaintance."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Sam remained frozen inside the house. The stench from Andy's internal organs was starting to spread through the small room. Worse, whatever Ava had done to split him open had nicked the top of the lining of his stomach. The smell of putrid acid starting to join. He wouldn't be able to stay in there much longer, especially with all the candles they had lit spreading the smell with heat and smoke. Yes, the best option was to stay and move further into the house, but the rest of the building was exposed to all the windows. He tried to take in deep, calming breaths, but it just made him nauseous.

Taking a risk, and figuring he was already dead due to the circumstances, he crawled along the floor to grab a piece of wood with a loose nail on it. If nothing else, he had something to swing with.

The wooden structure wasn't safe enough. He would have to try and make a sprint to one of the few buildings (he thought one might have been a courthouse back in the day) that had brick walls. To get there, there was only one exit. Back the way he had come from. Back where Ava was lying.

He cursed himself and his rage.

Maybe, just maybe, if he had actually talked to his brother, maybe if he hadn't tried to take everything on by himself. _Maybe _if he hadn't felt (selfishly or not) abandoned by his brother for trying going trying to transfer, he wouldn't be in this situation. Dean was clever. And at this point he would've had to have connected the dots; especially with the paperwork he'd left behind at their apartment. But, there wasn't anything he could do about it now.

He flinched a little as he slid his hands to get a tighter grip on the piece of wood. Splinters.

Ignoring them, Sam stood up and took a deep breath. He chanced a peek out of the nearest window, and, seeing no movement, nudged the door open a little with his foot. He waited patiently to see if the movement had registered with whoever the sniper was, then stood up. Sam was having a hard time breathing as he nudged himself through the door and spun to take cover behind one of the support poles on the porch of the house. No movement.

The courthouse he needed to get to was maybe a short sprint away.

He took off.

Sam vaulted over Ava's body, but before he took a few more steps, he heard his name called.

"Sam!"

He turned around to see Jake standing in the middle of the 'street' with a gun trained at him.

Where the hell had he gotten that?

"Jake... what are you doing?"

There was a tremor of remorse in the other man's voice as he spoke, "I'm sorry, Sam. Only one of us can leave."

"Wait-hold on. It doesn't have to be like this. We can make it out together."

"No. We can't."

"How do you know that?!" Sam prepared himself to plead to Jake. He wasn't above begging to save his life. Pride wasn't worth that.

"Azazel paid me a visit."

"What? When?"

Jake looked down at the ground for a brief moment. Before Sam had a chance to sprint for cover, he looked up again. He double checked to make sure the clip and bullet were loaded before continuing. "You're a good guy, Sam. And I respect you. I respect what you've done for us. But he's not going to let us leave. Only one person gets out. And I promise you, when I do, he's getting it. But I got family to worry about."

Sam's heart stuttered for a bit.

Jake had him outgunned. What the hell was a piece of wood to a glock?

"I'm sorry, Sam."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"What do you want?"

Azazel laughed as he pushed the gun a little more into the back of Dean's skull. "Not much, honestly." If he'd had the energy, Dean would've laughed. An honest criminal. "But here, I'll be kind. How about you put those binoculars back to your eyes and take a look back at where Ava was."

Nervous spit was starting to gather in Dean's mouth and he swallowed it down. He was proud of himself at how little his hands shook as he brought the binoculars back up to his eyes.

His soul left his body and left it empty.

Sam.

Sam and some guy... with a gun.

"What the he-"

"Now Dean, calm down. I might be evil, but I can be fair. So, how about we make a deal."

"A deal?" His uniform felt tight and constricting on him.

"A deal."

"What kind of deal?" he asked, throat closing up on him.

"For your brother's life."

Cold sweat broke out across his forehead and back. This couldn't be happening. A breeze swept through the trees as he tried to keep a trained eye on the situation happening in the town.

"I'm listening."

"I've got my people set up everywhere. We can have Jake -that's his name by the way- out before he even pulls the trigger. But, I need something from you."

Dean's heart thumped painfully in his chest. "What?" It came out squeakier than he wanted it to.

"A year from now, my associates and I will come for you, and yes, they're listening," Azazel slid the gun lazily further up Dean's head. "We'll need something from you. Just access. And you will say yes. You give me your word, and we save Sam, right now."

"That's it?"

Azazel chuckled. "Yes. That's it. But know this; if you try and hunt us down, you try and tell anyone about our little conversation, we will find your brother and flay him open. There are ways to keep people alive after their limbs have been separated. There are ways to make sure he never passes out when we flay the skin from his bones. Aren't medicinal advances great?! God bless the human race."

"What do you want?"

"Nothing but your cooperation. A year, Dean. A year. Isn't a little blurring of the lines worth your brother's life?" Dean couldn't breathe. "Oh look! Looks like Jake's getting ready to take a shot!" There was glee in Azazel's voice.

"Yes! YES! I take the deal. I take the damn deal."

Azazel raised a finger. A whizzing sound rang through the small excuse for a valley and Dean watched as Jake crumbled to the ground and his brother rolled down to the floor to take cover. He felt the cold metal move away from the back of his head.

"Smart man," Azazel said as he lowered the gun. Dean turned his head as the other man pulled out a dangling microphone cord. "It's all been recorded and sent back. And if you think I'm impressive? You don't know the half of it. Weasel out of this deal and your brother's dead."

Dean felt like vomiting. His stomach lurched and his entire consciousness fought against what he'd just done. You don't deal with terrorists. No matter what. He checked his binoculars again to make sure Sam was alive before turning around.

Azazel waved his gun in the air, letting it play around Dean's face. "Well, it's been good, De-"

Blood exploded over Dean's features. Luckily, he closed his eyes before it sunk into them. That didn't stop him from feeling his eyelashes coated with the liquid. His lips felt heavy with foreign blood and he struggled not to spit or clear his lips, knowing it would slip into his system.

"Dean!"

His entire body froze and he lifted his arm to try and dab away at the blood. He knew better than to wipe- it would just smear it in worse. He had no idea where Azazel had been and did not want to get any diseases into his system. There was a roar in his ears as he tried to listen to what had just happened. By the lack of sound, he assumed Azazel was dead. is system felt sluggish as he feared what that would mean for Sam. Was the deal void now?

"Dean!"

Warm hands clasped around his biceps. It was stupid, because there wasn't a logical reason he should have recognized the smell or the voice in his panic, but he knew it was Cas. There were more footsteps that followed his voice.

"Ca-Cas?"

"Dean, it's okay. Are you okay? Are you injured?"

The grip on his arm was starting to hurt from how hard Cas was holding onto him.

"Sam! Sam's down there! Go get Sam!"

He vaguely heard Cas bark orders at what he assumed were the rest of the agents to run down the valley to find his brother. Dean would've done it himself, but his knees were trembling and he couldn't figure out how to get up. The blood had started to dry on his eyelids and he was having a hard time opening them. You don't let a blind man run a rescue mission.

"It's okay, Dean. We got him. We got him."

Dean wasn't sure if he meant gunning down Azazel or that Sam was in safe custody.

He felt cold water over his face, and then hands working to wipe the grime off.

"Why did you do that?" Dean whispered, broken and quiet.

"I didn't want you to die," Cas whispered back, just as quietly.

"Find my brother."

"He's safe, Dean. He's safe."


	11. Cats Cradle

**Chapter 11: **Cats Cradle

There was a soft knock on Dean's door that startled him. He'd been nestled into his couch with his hand wrapped around a bottle of Jack. For a moment, he prayed that whoever it was would just go away if he ignored it. No such luck. With a sigh, he got up and stowed away the bottle first; only once it had been tucked away did he go to the door. Dean didn't bother looking through the peephole before opening it.

At his doorstep stood Castiel Novak -not in his usual black suit, either. "Isn't this practically naked for you?" slipped out of Dean's mouth before he could stop it. Cas was still wearing slacks, but there was a lack of a jacket and his sleeves were rolled up. Even his tie was a little askew.

Cas let himself smile a little before asking with a hand motion towards the inside of the apartment if he could come in. Dean moved out of the way to let him pass. "It's been a long day and we're preparing to wind down. Some of us are heading back to Quantico tonight, others tomorrow."

This made Dean feel uncomfortable. He wasn't quite ready for Cas to leave, especially with everything that had happened. It almost felt like someone was preparing to pull a rug from beneath his feet. "And where do you fall in that category?"

"My flight leaves at 4 am, I have a lot of work to get done at the office."

"Right," Dean muttered softly. He led them into the kitchen and pulled out a beer for Cas and himself. He held it out with a quirked eyebrow. "Unless you know. Drinking on the job."

"The case is currently closed, at least our involvement in this chapter," he took the beer from himself, fingertips brushing against Dean's.

Satisfied that he could get Cas to stick around just a little longer, he popped open his beer on the counter and then went digging for a bottle opener for Cas. He stopped as out of the corner of his eye he saw Cas pull out his belt buckle from the leather belt and crack open his own. That shouldn't have been so hot, but it was, and at least now he had an excuse to stare openly at the other man's lower half. He knew he'd drunk a little too much whiskey beforehand, and that the beer was a bad idea, when his eyes searched to find Cas' outline to get a vague idea of his size.

"Agent Winchester," Dean's head snapped up, his face was starting to get red, "I believe the phrase is, 'my eyes are up here'?"

The only thing that stopped Dean from crawling underneath his cramped sink and letting himself rot there was the glint in Cas' eye and the amused smirk that played on his lips.

Trying to save face, Dean stuttered out a petulant, "Yeah, well, kinda hard not to with that belt buckle trick."

"It's a practical clothing accessory, Dean."

"Practical," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes, but at the very least he didn't feel like hiding away. Cas' tone had taken an amused, almost flirtatious tone. And Dean could live with that.

"I'm surprised to find you here," Cas said after a few sips of his beer. "I would've assumed you'd be at the hospital with your brother."

Dean sighed and raised his hands towards the ceiling. "I tried. But apparently I'm 'hovering and just making things worse', so I got sent home." He glared at Cas as he heard a poorly hidden chuckle. "This isn't funny. They're checking him for injuries and after that keeping him for observation 'of his mental state'. I feel like family should be there for that."

"I'd have to agree," Dean looked surprised, "usually. But I've been told by some of your associates that you tend to 'mother hen' the people you care about."

"I do not!"

"There's nothing wrong with that, Dean. It's just not practical for the staff."

"You can stuff it," Dean replied and moved out of the kitchen towards the couch. He paused long enough to make sure that Cas got the hint to follow. He turned the TV on and was glad he'd hidden the whiskey. How pathetic would it have looked to have him with a bottle out and staring at a black screen?

"So, you've got about six hours to waste. Why the personal visit?"

"I wanted to check on you. Make sure that you were okay. There have been quite a number of shocks within a short period of time for you."

Dean struggled to get the swig of beer down his throat. He hadn't wanted to really talk about this, at least not until some down time. It's why he was nervous about Cas leaving so soon. He'd fucked up a lot in a few short hours. What he'd wanted was to make sure his brother was safe, drown out the last few hours, and crash. He knew there were several consequences waiting for him, but at the moment he didn't want to think about the repercussions. He especially wasn't sure if he was ready to talk to Cas. He'd ditched another agent, and at the time due to necessity, his partner. Hell, he hadn't even checked to see if Cas had been hit. There'd been a lot of bullets in that hallway and some of them had smashed into the wall near Cas. "Hey. I'm uh, look..."

"I understand," Cas interrupted. He'd originally truly just wanted to see Dean before they flew back. After they'd found him and he'd made sure to check Azazel's pulse, they hadn't had much of a chance to talk. Dean had been whisked away in an ambulance to be sure- he'd had some blood left over from Meg's body (and hadn't been able to convince the paramedics that he was fine and it wasn't his), that he was safe. After that, Cas had gone down with the rest of the team to retrieve Sam.

But, now that he was here, maybe it would be a good time to talk. One of the things he had admired about Dean since first seeing him was his sense of duty and loyalty. To both family and his job, 'doing the right thing'. He had made the assumption that these two values, different sides of the same coin, had never had to clash before. That they had always gone hand in hand. Psychologically, this would be an obstacle that Dean would have to overcome himself. And for better or for worse, he already knew that Dean's actions would be overlooked by the officials.

"No, Cas. I fucked up."

"Dean-"

"Seriously, Cas. I messed up and I know it. And I left you- fuck, you didn't get hurt did you? I haven't even bothered to ask or-"

"I am of perfect health, Dean."

"They're never going to let me work again."

"That's a little melodramatic."

"Oh fuck, the transfer, too. I don't think even your good word is going to-"

"Dean."

"- change anything. This is it. Leaving an agent behind like that is inexcusable-"

"Dean, you've been cleared. Whatever repercussions happen at your branch beforehand is undetermined, but you've been cleared and sanctioned."

"- I'd beat anyone else's ass who did this six ways to Sunday but- hold up. What?" Dean stopped his rambling, lifting his head up and staring at Cas, confused. "I haven't even had my review hearing yet."

"It comes from a little higher up in the chain of command than your office," Cas replied, twirling the glass of beer between his fingers. He was glad for it, in that it meant Dean's position wouldn't be jeopardized, but he wasn't comfortable with the lack of structure in the order.

"How high up?" Dean asked, voice a little nervous. While he loved being a good agent, and having his name known around a few blocks, it generally spelled trouble the higher up your name got.

"The CIA and head of the FBI feel that you acted in the best interest of the country and the job in mind."

"Who the hell sold them that crap?" Dean huffed out, a little offended. He didn't need anyone making excuses for him. He glared at Cas a little accusingly. He couldn't think of anyone else high up enough to have been such an influential voice.

"As enamoring as you are, and as much as I do like you, the information came as a shock to me."

He had checked in with Zachariah during the canvassing of the little town that Sam had been kidnapped to. Reluctantly, he'd given the full details. Dean had taken off without leaving indicators as to where he was going upon arrival, had not checked in with a single teammate, and had ended up on his knees in the dirt with a gun pointed at his head. (He hadcalled the CIA first because of the joint task force, and because it would be easier to rehearse how to give the gruesome details before having to present Dean's file for transfer to the BAU).

To his surprise, the response had been a jovial "_not to worry about the small details". _He had expressed his confusion, and then was told that Dean's actions had been sanctioned by the FBI and CIA, and that if he wanted to there was an honorary mention waiting for him for the aid in capturing a terrorist and killing one.

"Well I'll be damned," Dean whispered, leaning back into the couch. The drunk buzz in his head cleared a little bit with the shock.

His face started to redden again as he realized the tangent he had gone off on. He swallowed it down and closed his eyes, tilting his head back against the couch cushion. "That's all well and good, Cas. But I still left you. How can you put someone like that on your team?"

Cas didn't hesitate to reach forward and place a warm hand on Dean's shoulder. It startled Dean a little, but Cas gently tightened his grip until the other man was looking at him. There was an expression in his eyes that Dean couldn't quite read. "You will have a disciplinary course that you have to take, and we will have to be very strict about the freedoms you have in the field, but the job is still yours if you want it. Well, after the FBI clears you from your... personal involvement in this case, as well."

Dean leaned into the touch a little bit, "I can do that- and speaking of. This.. C.O.L.T. business, my mom and everything and Sam-"

"A discussion for another day, perhaps. There will be a lot of... chaos in your life in the next few weeks. The fallout from this will not be easy to navigate through, for you or your brother. My personal suggestion is to take it a day at a time and not worry about it for tonight."

"That your advice as a profiler?" Dean breathed out with a bit of disbelieving irritation.

"It's my advice as an acquaintance," Cas replied, stroking his thumb idly along the seam of the shirt on Dean's shoulder.

"You saved my life," Dean laughed, smiling a little ruefully. "You've had to take care of my drunken ass, and been kidnapped by me to go on a crazy rescue mission. I think it's okay if you say we're friends."

Cas couldn't help but smile back a little. He let his hand slide down and off of Dean's arm. In the time they'd been talking they'd scooted far enough into each other that their legs were touching- a warm line of heat from their knees and up their thighs. It wasn't like either of them could be blamed for that. It had been an intense and emotional subject matter to talk about. It was natural to move in together. Cas let his hand rest back in his lap and let his own head lean back onto the headrest of the couch. The way he angled his face put them mere inches apart. "Yes, friends. I would like that very much."

"Good," Dean swallowed and let his eyes trail around Cas' face before settling back on the eyes. The man had a very strong gaze. Dean found that he couldn't spend too long looking straight into it before he felt like he was being swallowed up, drowning and being pulled down into something deep that picked him apart and put him back together. He bet that it's what helped Cas be such a good profiler. Eyes like that could pick anyone apart. "It'd be awkward when I moved to Virginia if we didn't get along."

"Am I interrupting something?"

Dean's beer clattered to the ground as he nearly sprang up off of the couch. Lisa was standing in the doorway area between the hallway and the living room. Castiel, much more composed, gently set his own beer down on the coffee table.

"Lisa- what are you doing here?"

She frowned a little and jingled a set of keys in her hand. "You gave me the spare, remember? If I ever need to come in or watch the place? I got turned away at the hospital. They wouldn't tell me where you were. I knocked on the door, but no answer. I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to," she looked at Cas, trying to remember where she had seen him before, "interrupt a night or something. I can go."

"Do not trouble yourself Miss Braeden," Castiel said, getting up and smoothing out his tie. Dean cringed. What he had originally thought had looked cute now looked incriminating as all hell as Cas' nimble fingers twisted it back around the right way. "I was just heading out, my flight leaves in a few hours. I simply came in to check on Dean before my departure." He walked forward and gave curt nod to her, professional and formal, "It is good to see you looking well. Dean," he turned and held out his hand. They shook, Dean feeling incredibly awkward and a little cold. Things had felt so warm and close just two seconds before. Almost intimate. "We will be in touch, of course. You have the BAU extension and all the numbers. Call if you need anything."

Lisa and Dean watched in silence as Cas toed on his shoes again and walked out of the apartment. What atmosphere had collected in the hour or two that they had been talking was swept out the door behind the agent. Feeling strangely empty and aching for the feeling again, he went to the cabinet and pulled out his whiskey, pouring himself a glass. Lisa shook her head when he tried to offer her something.

"It really wasn't anything that it looked like," Dean started but Lisa cut him off.

"You don't need to explain yourself to me. We're not together. It's totally okay if you see other people, men or women, just, a heads up would've been nice. We've been waiting for updates since they told us you took off and couldn't be found. Only reason I found out that you might be back was because it's all over the news that Azazel's dead and another person's been caught."

"Lis-"

She held up her hand to silence him, sighing. Lisa let herself lean back onto the island counter in the kitchen. Her expression was blank and carefully schooled intro neutrality, but when she turned her head to face him fully it changed.

"Ben's been scared," she muttered, "for you, for Sam. And they wouldn't tell us anything. I couldn't tell him anything." She raised her hand again to silence him as he attempted to talk. "I understand, this is your job. We're not together. But we agreed at least to raise Ben together, the best we could. I'm... it's not your fault but I'm tired of having this conversation. It's the only conversation we've had in months. I could care less about me but-"

"I know, fuck, I know."

The room felt cold and heavy with depression.

"Moving, huh?"

Dean winced.

Lisa laughed a little, "When were you going to tell us that little piece of information."

"I don't even know if I'm doing it yet, but... the BAU offered me a job, if I wanted to. That training that I did, when I went up to Virginia-"

"Was for the job," she nodded her head and crossed her arms loosely. She tilted her head back. "When do you leave?"

"Lis- I haven't even decided yet."

"Yes you have," she stepped forward a little and uncurled her arms. She put a gentle hand on his cheek. "I know you. You're leaving. And I should slap you right now, for hiding this so long from Ben. Just because-" her voice shook and she pulled her hands back so that she wouldn't go taking a swing at Dean.

"About six months, would be the official move. If I choose. The rest of the training I've been doing will help me here, too. I could always be better at my job," Dean tried to say it casually, attempting to make a joke about his marriage to his work.

"You don't want to stay here, Dean."

He didn't have a response to her that wouldn't have been a lie. He loved her, and he loved Ben...

"The few times I _have _seen you, you've seemed happier. Well, before all this," she waved her arms around to indicate the kidnapping, "and that's good. I just wish you would've talked to us about it."

"Be as pissed as you want, I deserve it," Dean mumbled taking a swig of the whiskey and concentrating on the burn. Of course he'd been thinking about them, of course he'd been wanting to talk to them, but other things had taken precedence and he'd been fine putting them out of his head as long as they were safe. And he had known they were.

"I'm not mad, Dean. I'm disappointed."

And for whatever reason, that was worse. Dean felt his insides crumble.

"Just make sure you say goodbye to Ben before you decide to go." She gave him one last look before walking out of the kitchen and disappearing into the hallway. Dean winced when he heard the door shut.

He sighed as he walked over to the window, his head leaning against the glass as he watched Lisa step into her car and drive off. The worst part was that he couldn't argue with anything she had said. He had been happier. He'd been excited (and some of that maybe, he had to admit, was due to a certain blue-eyed agent), blood pumping and passionate about a new challenge. New scenery. A different way to help out, a broader way to help out. It would be a job that would make his father proud, and probably his mom too. It was something he was able to do for himself, and he'd let it take over. Somehow, he had let Sam slip off the radar, let Ben live scared, and disappointed Lisa.

The guilt felt like venom coursing through his body. He slinked to the couch and let himself drop into it, the TV still buzzing as background noise. He tilted his head to the side and stared at the empty space that Cas had been in a second ago. A warm glow briefly lit up in his chest and he sighed towards the ceiling.

He might've been a screw up, in more ways than one, and fucked over too many things to ever make up for. But there was still something waiting for him, despite all that.

Despite the guilt turning him towards the rest of the bottle.

He knew he was going.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Castiel let himself recline in the soft seats of the team jet. Ellen was sleeping on one of the couches, blanket curled around her shoulders while Bobby read some book towards the back of the plane. The paper work had taken forever to complete so their departure time had been shoved back to a strange hour. Charlie and Pamela had opted to stay and take a later flight. Pamela loved Oklahoma and was allowing herself a little down time to roam around. Charlie had more or less decided the same, grouchy at having stayed up so late and just wanting to get to the hotel, no packing necessary. Bobby and Cas usually took the first available time the team could head back (Pamela had once joked that they should start a Workaholics United group), and Ellen, well, she missed her daughter.

He had hoped to fall asleep once they had boarded, praying that exhaustion would take its toll. But, as per usual, when he really needed it, sleep would not come.

His mind was busy replaying the course of events. Cas knew better than anyone that the time after a case was the time to get out of that headspace. To find a way to unwind and relax because the job took a massive mental toll. You took yourself away from the experience and thought about it in the morning when the paperwork sat in front of you and you had to submit a formal copy of the case. But, Cas defended in his head, he wasn't so much focusing on the case (Azazel, Meg, the thousands of people murdered and the drug and people trafficking, the mental toll on Sam, the amount of dead they'd unearthed already at the town...). He was thinking of Dean, warm green eyes, and a cold beer in his hand. How solid and sturdy Dean's arm had felt underneath his hand and how the other man had let Cas' touches linger.

How he had called him a friend.

And how he'd left his place. It hadn't been pertinent to the case, past the basic information, so Castiel had never felt the need to dig very deep into Lisa or Ben. What little he knew of the dynamics between them he'd heard around the Oklahoma City FBI office or snippets that Dean had let slip. The way the man had talked about it had always made it seem like a warm, if not a little complicated relationship. Suddenly, he felt a nudge of guilt underneath his ribs at how close he'd let himself to get to the other agent. Logically, he knew they hadn't done anything but exchange warm touches, and that Lisa and Dean were no longer romantically involved, and had no plans for it. Though he hadn't been worried before, he was now concerned that he'd behaved unprofessionally with Dean. Cas tried not to let his mind settle on that for too long, but he'd taken the plunge already. Cas never did anything in halves so there was no point in regretting the progression of whatever bond was forming between them.

So, instead of worrying too much, he tried to conjure up the memories of whatever private shared moments they'd had since meeting in the hospital so long ago. Every time he tried, Lisa's face swam into view. There had been no malice in it, no anger; just concern, confusion, and perhaps if he tried to force it into the memory, irritation.

But it had felt cold after she had arrived.

Dean seemed to shut down and Cas had taken that as his cue to distance himself. He had assumed that while the case had been going that Dean had been operating his life as per usual. It seemed that it wasn't the case. It didn't quite match what Dean stood for- family- that he'd left them in the dark so far. Perhaps it wasn't that easy though. The agent's little stunts during the case had certainly proven that he was reckless and single-minded when he wanted to be. So, while he'd been sure that Dean had kept in touch with the Braeden's, it was very likely now that he hadn't given them any updates. Her sudden arrival suggested that he hadn't in awhile.

He closed his eyes tightly in pity for the woman. Cas knew protocol well enough that she probably would not have been given information by any of the officers from the case, which meant, that she would've had to have found any updates through the news.

"Need some painkillers?"

Cas opened his eyes to see that sometime in his musings Bobby had moved to sit across from him.

"I'm fine," he replied, straightening out from where he'd been slumped against the window. "Simply thinking."

"Looks more like you were lost in thought," Bobby replied, tucking the bottle of Advil back into his breast pocket.

"Perhaps a little," Castiel admitted with a tired smile.

"And what could possibly be keeping you from a little beauty sleep?"

"Dean Winchester."

Bobby huffed and rolled his eyes, "Oh boy."

"I don't appreciate what you're insinuating," he said, but without any real agitation. Bobby waited for him to continue. "I went to see him before I left."

"Didja now?" Bobby sounded positively amused.

"Simply to say goodbye and update him on his status. He was very distraught about it."

"I'm sure."

Castiel felt his mood lightening as he spoke to his colleague. "I cannot tell a lie."

Bobby huffed, "I'm sure, Mr. President," before turning back to his book.

Feeling more relaxed, Cas watched as the city lights dwindled into the distance and the clouds took over his view.

**A/N: **Beta'd of course by the lovely AntiNickname. At a convention this weekend so it took a bit to update but here ya'll go!


	12. The Grass Is Greener On The Other Side

**A/N: **Sorry it's taken so long. Beta'd by the ever lovely AntiNickname.

**Chapter 12: The Grass Is Greener On The Other Side**

Dean drummed his fingers nervously along the seat. They'd been in the air for about an hour. Another hour and thirty minutes to go before they could touch town in Virginia. Every time he tried to close his eyes, he swore the jolting of the plane got worse. He hummed some of his favorite hits underneath his breath. Sam had once recommended that he grab a pair of headphones instead of humming. That had made it worse, too. If he couldn't hear the rumble of the plane and how bad it was, he was sure it was breaking apart around plane jolted and his grip on the seat became tighter.

"Hey, move your legs. I'm gonna hit the head."

He turned to look at Sam and brought his legs in a little. His brother gave him a lopsided smile and put a gentle hand on his shoulder before squeezing past, saying he'd be right back.

"Right, you do that," Dean muttered and refused to let his eyes wander over to the window, even if his brother had closed it for him.

They hadn't spoken much, well, not about anything serious. He'd picked Sam up from the hospital the day after Cas had left. It had been a little more than awkward.

_Sam slid into the passenger seat of the Impala, quiet and shoulders drawn. Dean nodded at him and restarted the car. They drove in silence for less than a mile before Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat. _

_"Dean, I'm-"_

"_Not now, Sammy." _

"_But-"_

"_Can it." _

_A tense silence crept over the car. Dean gripped the wheel tighter and felt his arms shake a little with the effort to keep still. He really didn't want to talk about Sam going behind his back. He really didn't want to hear anything about what Sam had done in the past few months. More than that, Dean hadn't come to terms with his own guilt yet. Maybe if he had kept a better eye on Sam he would've been able to talk to him about it. Wouldn't have gotten kidnapped. When it came down to it, he was convinced most of it was his fault. His parents would be disappointed._

_They made it home and Dean walked in first, letting the door swing open for Sam to step through. He let his brother wander towards his room to put back the meager possessions he'd had at the hospital. Dean pulled out two beers and set one on the counter. He opened his and leaned back against the counter, A few moments of silent sipping passed before he heard Sam's door opening. There was quiet shuffling and a soft clink as Sam picked up his own beer. _

"_I'm sorry." _

_Dean sighed. "I know. Look, Sam," he took a swig from his beer. He rubbed a tired hand over his eyes and down to his mouth. "Don't ever keep anything from me ever again. Is that understood?"_

"_Yes, of course," Sam said, eager. He scooted around the counter so he could look his brother in the face. "I don't know how I can ever-"_

"_There's Dr. Sexy re-runs recorded. You down?" Dean interrupted and marched over to the couch. Sam had followed and kept quiet for the rest of the night. _

_About a week of avoiding the topic later, Dean's transfer papers were delivered. Sam had been going to regular therapy sessions. He said he was fine but kept going at his brother's insistence. Sam was just getting back from his evening session when he saw the thick envelope sitting in their mailbox. Not thinking much of it he picked it up and brought it upstairs. He'd been getting a lot of paperwork sent his way since his kidnapping and didn't look past the name "Winchester". _

_A cold chill crept along his spine as he read the words "Congratulations" and "Accepted" and the first day of work. _

"_What's that?" _

_Dean walked in with a greasy take out bag of burgers and caught Sam in the kitchen with a stack of papers. He looked a little hurt as he handed the papers over. His voice was quiet. "Just going to leave me here, Dean?" _

_Confused, he took a closer look at the papers. His transfer to Quantico had been approved. He could get a new FBI badge before transfer or after. He would go through specialized training and another run through the field test in addition to the classes he'd been taking._

"_Well getting the Impala up there would be expensive. Someone's gotta stay to look after it," Dean tried to joke._

"That's not funny." 

_"Right, sorry. I know," Dean sighed. "We haven't really had time to talk about it, and with everything that's happened..." He walked over to a stack of papers he had tucked in a drawer. He fished through them before finding the one paper he was looking for. He tossed it to Sam. _

_It fluttered a bit in the air before he could get his hands around it. Relief and confusion flooded his face. "I wasn't sure, there's another one I'm looking at. But I figured-" _

"_It looks great, Dean," Sam said softly. The two bedroom apartment wasn't exactly the as big as the one they had here. Prices were higher so square footage went down. It was a decent enough neighborhood and close to where the Quantico FBI office was. _

"_Get packing then, I guess." _

Which all had led to Dean nervously tapping his foot against the floor of the plane four months later.

"Relax, dude."

Dean jumped in his seat as Sam appeared at his side. "You relax," he hissed back."

"Only an hour left."

"That's not helpful," Dean muttered and went back to focusing on his humming.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

There was a shrill beeping that filled the otherwise quiet office. Cas glanced down at his phone and watched the name "DEAN" pop up on his phone. He snapped his phone shut; it was just an alarm. Knowing that the Winchesters didn't have many connections in Virginia, he had volunteered to pick them up from the airport and drive them to wherever they need to be. Cas couldn't lie to himself, either; there was the thrill of seeing Dean again after so long. They had, of course, kept in touch with e-mails here and there. They'd attempted to keep it strictly to business but every so often a flirtation would creep into their discourse.

It worried him. Not because he was terrified of it becoming an issue in the office (although there was that worry) but because of the keen interest that the still secretly operating joint task force had in him. When the CIA, FBI, and International Bureaus all had their eye on the same man... Well, it never led anywhere good for the people involved. He liked Dean. Enjoyed how brisk and straightforward he was. It helped that Dean had a way of making him laugh. With his covert position still active in the CIA he worried that their correspondences could be used against him. He didn't want to become a tool that would harm Dean.

"Headed somewhere?" Bobby asked from the doorway.

Cas' head snapped up from the small briefcase he was packing.

"The Winchesters are arriving in half an hour."

"Uh huh."

Cas frowned at him and snapped his case shut.

"Any particular reason they're not getting a taxi?"

"I volunteered to drive and pick them up." Cas squeezed himself past Bobby through the doorway. He was hoping to escape before the rest of the office or his team heard about it.

The rest of the team had accepted the addition of Dean to the team, with warning and conditions, of course. This was their little family he was going to try and be a part of. But, with the events of the last half-year, they'd gotten a little closer with the Winchesters than they would have with other agents before transfer. He was a good man and a good agents. And he'd gotten the all clear from the higher ups and the heads of the FBI. The Endorsements didn't get much more glowing than that. They were eager to see how he would react in the field; if he could switch his mindset from the gang unit to profiling. (Even if every agent's job required a little bit of it, it was far from being a specialist it.)

Which was all well and good. Technical jargon. The hardest part was dealing with Pamela. Ellen and Bobby could care less. Charlie spent most of her time behind computers and unless someone actively told her something she stayed out of the loop and in her comic books. Pamela... Pamela, on the other hand, was perceptive and it was almost impossible for her not to notice things. She'd gotten a bachelor's degree focusing on interpersonal relationships for fun. Every time Dean's name came up in discussion, she would smile and stare at Cas. Cas ignored her the best he could but she could be very persistent.

"Volunteered, huh?"

Cas tensed up at the gleeful voice. "Agent Barnes."

"Winchesters land today then, huh?"

"Yes. And I'm about to be late to pick them up," he responded shortly.

"Make sure to call in if you end up taking a tour of the apartment!" Pamela called out after him.

He rolled his eyes and was glad that he'd made it to the elevator before the heat had started creeping up his neck. If asked, he knew he wouldn't deny a short visit. He felt his palms twitching during the drive to the airport. Cas tried to take deep breaths to calm his nerves. If anything else, the warm glow of the word 'friend' thrummed in his chest.

The airport wasn't that crowded and he found a parking spot close to the gates. He slipped on his sunglasses and stepped out of the van. Cas leaned against the side of it, eyes scanning the opening and closing doors. He had to fight to keep the smile off his face when Dean's broad body stepped out. Dean looked around for a moment, bag in tow, as he waited for his brother. There was a small fluttering in his chest. Once Sam had caught up with him Dean took another look around. Cas slid his Ray-Bans off of his face and finally let himself smile. He watched as Dean's face lit up and the man started walking towards him. Sam looked confused but followed.

"Cas! Didn't think you were serious." Dean let his bag drop to the ground and gave him a strong hug. Castiel felt himself tense a little. It wasn't the greeting he'd been expecting but he relished in it. He gave his best attempt at returning it on such short notice. Dean stepped back.

"Agent Novak."

"Sam Winchester. You seem well." They shared a much more formal handshake.

"Thanks. Yeah, I'm... doing good," he gave a side-glance towards Dean that the other man ignored. "First time in Virginia."

"Hopefully you'll find it to your liking," Cas replied.

They made a quick trip of packing up their stuff into the van. Sam slid into back while Dean hopped into the passengers seat. While Castiel and Sam spent most of the time mute, Dean kept a lively commentary the entire trip to the apartment.

"We got it from here. But I'll call you later, if you're free?" Dean smiled at Cas. For a moment Castiel could've sworn the other man looked eager.

"Of course... Dean." Dean smiled brighter at his use of the first name. "But please remember, you're going to hit the ground running. First day is tomorrow."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"Agent Novak, huh?"

"Shut up Sammy."

Dean's shoulders were hunched as they made their way up the elevator. The second he'd seen Castiel, his heart had sped up and he'd nearly tripped over his own bag. Somehow he'd managed to steady himself until Sam had caught up with him. When Cas had slid his sunglasses off and Dean had seen those eyes. He'd nearly tripped over himself again. The foggy memory he had of the man really didn't match up to the real thing. When Cas had offered to pick them up from the airport, he'd been ecstatic. He'd also made the choice not to tell to Sam about it. And now he couldn't avoid it.

"I'm not saying anything just..." Sam paused as Dean fiddled with the key to their new apartment.

"Just what?" The door swung open.

Sam took a look around the new apartment. They walked through the parlor in silence, taking in the new place. There was still the smell of a fresh layer of paint. One of the windows had been left open for them. He couldn't help but smile. He took one look at Dean's tense back and shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just glad you've got a friend here."

"It's something at least," Dean muttered, but he felt pleased.

It would be a few hours before Cas got off work, provided they didn't get a new case. He'd been informed exactly how hectic the work schedule would be. Still, as he made his way through the empty apartment, he couldn't help but let his thumb play over the buttons of his phone. "I'm the eldest so I get first pick!" Dean yelled out from one of the bedrooms. It had come unfurnished; it cheaper that way. He dropped his bags to the floor and walked back out, trying to find his brother.

"Well?"

"It's great, Dean."

"Good. Because getting a place this close to the office was a hell of a search. Now, how about we go get a rental and some mattresses? Our stuff won't get here for at least a week or two and I'm not sleeping on the floor."

"You know, I'm surprised you're letting anyone other than you drive the Impala up here."

"No one's driving the Impala up here. Rufus has her on lockdown until I find a safe place to keep her here. The apartment didn't exactly come with a garage and I wanna make sure it's safe to park her on the street. Now get your shit, we're losing daylight."

The shopping ended up taking them most of the day. Finding a rental car had actually taken the longest. It had to be one that Dean approved of, of course, but Sam argued that with how much he'd be working Sam would be in charge of it more often than not. It had ended up with Sam telling Dean that he was going to get other shopping done while Dean had a midlife crisis over a piece of metal. Although it almost hurt him physically to stray from his classics, he'd ended up picking a smaller model, sensible, cheap van. Whenever the Impala got up there it wouldn't matter. Besides, it wasn't like they were going to strap the mattresses to the roof of the car along with the other crap they needed for the apartment.

Sam had seemed far too happy with the choice when Dean had rolled up to the furniture store Sam was browsing through. Apparently a bath mat and a shower curtain were something his gigantor brother couldn't do without.

"Maybe a small table?"

"What? Dude, we can just eat off the floor."

"The floor is gross."

"Then clean it if it bothers you so much!"

Trying to save money Dean had insisted on bringing most of the furniture they'd had at the old place with them. He hadn't really thought about how they would be living for the first few weeks. For him it wasn't too big of a deal. Back in his troubled kid days he'd spent too many nights at friends' places, living the same way.

"Fine, but you're paying for it."

By the time they were done with their shopping trip, they had a fridge full of food and a sparsely furnished apartment. Dean had grumbled the entire time they'd hauled things up and down the stairs and elevator respectively.

"It's practically fully furnished," Dean complained as he put away some of the groceries.

"Two mattresses, a miniature TV, and table do not count as furnished."

"You have a laptop. Watch TV on that," Dean muttered. He'd grumbled it into the fridge so Sam hadn't heard.

For a moment Dean just watched his younger brother eagerly arrange the two or three items in their living room. A small smile twitched at his lips. Sam looked healthier than he had in months and actually excited. While from now on he vowed to keep a closer eye on his brother, he was happy to see that some of the guilt had slipped away from his shoulders. It'd been a shitty thing to do, but hey, it wasn't like Sam had gone looking for trouble. A little misguided search for answers, but not trouble. He started walking out to the living room with two beers in hand when a stack of papers on the counter caught his eye. Dean placed the beers down and flipped through the papers.

"What's this?"

Sam looked up at his brother and blushed a little. He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous. "Well, you may have been transferred but I haven't gotten the all clear yet. The ethics committee needs to go over my actions to see if they'll even let me finish my internship. Or work in the law field ever again. So in the meantime," he shrugged, "I'm not gonna be a freeloader, Dean. You've done way too much for me. It's not much, but there's coffee shops around here hiring, and a printing shop. Hell, I bet I could find a McDonalds that's hiring. I'm not going to be a burden on you. I'm gonna do the best I can."

Dean felt a warm swell of pride and a little embarrassment course through him. "Oh come on. I know agents don't exactly get paid that much but it would've been okay 'til you got back on your feet. What else are older brothers for?"

"Seriously, Dean," Sam stood up and crossed the threshold. He wrapped his arms around his brother and pulled him close. Arms shaking a little with the pent up emotion. It wasn't like Dean was ever very receptive to emotional moments. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Thankfully, before the situation could get too emotional for Dean to handle, his phone buzzed. He untangled himself from Sam and gave him a small smile and a pat on the back. It was a text message from Cas. He felt another warm feeling entirely swell through him as he flipped it open. He was done with work and available if Dean wanted to call. _'how bout a beer?' _Dean sent instead. Nerves pulsed through him and he couldn't help but shift a little from foot to foot. If Sam noticed, he didn't say a word. Maybe he was being too forward? _'I'd like that.' _

They agreed on a place a little down the road from Dean's apartment. Close enough for him to walk. And if Dean spent a little too long in the bathroom getting himself ready to go out. Sam didn't say anything about that either.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"Drinking on a work night?"

Cas smiled as Dean sat down across the table from him. "Every day is a work night, Agent Winchester," Castiel said with a small grin.

Instead of correcting him, Dean gave a soft chuckle and shook his head. "Glad you could make it."

"It was a slow day. Not every week is filled with terrorist attacks."

"That's a relief. I mean, I know there are some bad guys out there, but I'd be a little concerned for people's safety if it was that common."

The corners of Castiel's eyes crinkled. Although he'd seen the other man plenty of times, he still found that his heart thumped a little faster when Dean walked in wearing a leather jacket and faded, slightly torn jeans. Casual looked good on him. He assumed Dean cleaned up nicely; the few times they'd run into each other at the office, he hadn't been in full uniform, but seeing him like this made him feel warm.

He really had been lucky that there hadn't been any major developments that day; only consultation on a few local cases and some paperwork. He'd sent the others home early and was glad for it. He wasn't sure if he would've been able to handle the teasing from Pamela as he fretted in his office on whether he should change or not. In the end, he'd simply walked out the door and called himself an idiot of the highest class. It's not like Dean would particularly care.

"Are you settling in well?" Cas asked as Dean received his own beer.

"Yeah. We are, actually. The place is nice. You should come see it sometime," Dean blushed a bit at the dirty implications that had come uninvited. He'd only taken one sip of beer, but he blamed it on the alcohol regardless. They were friends. You didn't do that to friends. "Sam seems to like it. Already picked out furniture."

Cas chuckled. "Your brother didn't strike me as the type to simply sit still and do nothing."

"Tell me about it. He's already got a stack of job applications a mile long lying around the apartment. We only hit the ground like a few hours ago. Kid doesn't waste time."

"An admirable quality. At least he's driven."

"Maybe a little too driven," Dean muttered. A small flinch followed that statement. They both knew exactly what he was talking about. It had been months since the incident, but it wasn't something that they'd discussed between them. Judging by the frown on Dean's face, Cas guessed that he hadn't discussed it with his brother, either.

Giving Dean a reprieve, he changed the subject. "Eager to begin work tomorrow?"

Dean's eyes lit up and he looked almost grateful. "Hell yeah. Can't wait to see the rest of the team again. Any 'new guy' things I should be worried about?"

"New guy?"

"Come on. I know you guys are all fancy and serious business at the BAU but everyone has a little initiation hazing."

They both ordered another round of beers.

"I wouldn't be able to tell you. Perhaps because I am the Unit Chief? I worked with Bobby Singer before being promoted but the rest of the team was fairly new to me when I started."

"Promoted from another section?" Dean whistled. "That's impressive."

Castiel blushed and hid it behind heavy gulps. "Agent Singer is very well respected in the FBI. I owe my current standing to him."

"Don't sell yourself short. From what I can tell you're kind of a bad ass," Dean gently tapped Cas' hand with the end of his beer bottle. "And besides, you haven't been voted off the island yet so you can't be doing that bad."

"Thank you," Cas chuckled a little. "I do take pride in my work."

"Well," Dean raised his beer in a cheers, "It'll be a pleasure to be working under you, Agent Novak."

Both of them ignored the visual that popped into their heads, glancing away from each other at the same time before regaining their composure.

They were friends. Friends and now co-workers. Those weren't innuendos they should be fishing out of innocent sentences.

**A/N: **You may have noticed that updates have been a little slower. My apologies. I've got Cardinal!verse due to be re-published with new art and the entire thing re-written and edited by the 17th so I've been trying to work with that. The next bits are also when we pick up with actual cases and really hit it hard. Most of the case dialogue will be in context of Dean and Cas working together, so you don't have to worry too much on reading boring technical info, but I still have to plan it out in detail. I thank you for your patience.


	13. Killer Carnival

**A/N: **As of July 9th un-betad but since it's been so long since I updated I'm pre-publishing. Hope you like how I did the case, I don't wanna flood it with technical jargon or anything but once the story is completed (or if I publish stuff earlier) the case files will be available for you guys to look through. (Brief discussion with Inkpot satsuma can be credited for helping me narrow down the first case.) * If you would like to request cases, just drop one in the review. aka pick an episode and lemme see what I can do. S1-S3 only atm.

**Chapter 13: **Killer Carnival

"You're up early."

Dean pulled at his tie and glanced at his brother. He yanked the piece of toast out of his mouth before responding. "First day at work, gotta make a good impression."

"Since when has that mattered?" Sam groused, rubbing sleep out of his eyes.

"It just does Sammy, you think you can behave while I'm gone?" he teased. His brother did have a point, though. Generally he was more likely to roll out of bed and into a wrinkled set of clothes usually located at the foot of bed. The majority of the time, he didn't even have time for breakfast. He checked himself in the hallway mirror one last time as he toed on his shoes.

It was easier to admit he was anxious of a new working environment than wanting to impress Cas.

"I'll be fine, _Mom,_" Sam shot back.

"Hey, you can shut it. Wasn't so long ago an entire precinct was pulled out to save your ass."

Sam quieted at that. He knew his brother had technically forgiven him, well, as much as his brother was capable of forgiving such transgression. Dean held grudges. Not in the petty way, but in the I'm-gonna-pull-this-card-on-you-everytime-you-get- snarky way. "I'll be fine. I'm thinking of checking out some of the job applications I picked up. Just make sure to check in."

"Right."

Dean grabbed his 'go-bag' from the hallway closet and closed the door. Since it would be his first day he didn't have one at the office yet. Cas had given him plenty of tips on what to pack but he'd still had half a hernia trying to fit everything he _might _need into it. He hopped into the rental car they had until the Impala was hauled up north and made his way towards the central office.

Although he'd had plenty of years working in law enforcement, and for the FBI, as the doors slid open to the Behavioral Unit work floor his heart thudded in his chest. He looked around, a little lost for a second. He knew one of the desks on the floor would be his but didn't feel like shuffling around like an idiot until he found it.

"Dean Winchester! A legend among men."

Dean turned around to see Pamela striding towards him with her arms open. He almost collapsed from relief. Instead, he let his smile slip into a charming grin and held up one of his own arms to accept the hug. "Miss Barnes."

"Pamela."

"Pamela it is then."

"You look a little lost. Why don't I show you to your desk?"

Dean laughed and felt most of the tension seep out of him. While he was sure there would be a learning curve and an adjustment period, the sense of camaraderie was very much the same as back in Oklahoma City. Pamela stopped at an empty desk and tapped on it. "This is yours, the one in front of you is Ellen's." She moved to a table a few feet away from his and dropped into the chair. "And this one's mine."

He looked around his desk and nodded. Dean looked at his go-bag and at her with a raised eyebrow. "Can I just keep it here or?"

"I generally do." She rolled her chair to the side and pulled out one of the largest drawers to reveal a tightly squished bag. "There's a locker hold down the hall and to the right if you want. It really depends on how much stuff you packed I guess. Or you could keep it under your desk like Ellen does."

"Sounds good," Dean mumbled as he let the bag drop and kicked it under his desk. He sat down into his seat and fiddled around with the drawers for a little bit. After he'd moved the standard issue lamp three times he turned back to Pamela. "So, what now?"

Pamela drummed her fingers on the table and glanced at the row of offices on a raised platform. "That really depends on the cases. We have regular work schedules but of course have to be open to head anywhere; if we get an urgent case. We don't always go places either. Sometimes we just consult from here or go over old cases."

"Huh."

"Yeah, not as glamorous as Novak probably sold it to you as?"

"We never discussed it that much to be honest."

Pamela hummed to herself. "Either way, we've got a little bit. That top left office? The big one? That's Novak's. The one next to it? That's Singer's. We usually wait for the big guy to come out and wave us in."

"How do we pick cases?"

"_We_ don't," Pamela pulled out her phone and idly ran through it. "We used to have a specific liaison for that. Handled all the PR stuff as well as which cases we got. She left when the last team disbanded though. Now Charlie looks through 'em and ranks 'em by urgency. They get sent to Agent Novak and we either consult from the office or we pack up and go."

Just as Pamela was finishing, Cas' door swung open. Dean's mouth went a little dry. It was one thing seeing him casually or when hewas more or less a victim in a case that was being worked on. It was something rather unexpected to watch him stride out of his office, file in hand, radiating authority. He gave one commanding glance across the floor to the other agents and Dean's skin tingled. Pamela rose out of her chair and just as he was attempting to get his feet working again, Ellen walked in though the double doors.

"Oh, hey Dean. Good to see you," she said in a hurry as she tugged a young looking blond behind her. She pulled out her office chair and almost pushed her into it. "Now Jo, can you sit here for a little and entertain yourself?"

"I'll be fine," Jo muttered back at her, rolling her eyes. She and Dean made brief eye contact and she smiled a little.

"Good. Are we in the conference room?" Ellen asked.

"What? Yeah, yeah Cas just came out," Dean mumbled out as he finally moved back into action.

"Cas, huh?" Dean felt heat collect at the back of his neck as she laughed. "Glad to see you and the boss man are getting along. He doesn't make friends easy."

"He can come off a little stiff."

"There's a rumor going around about something sharp and painful being in certain places but that's an after hours conversation." She gave him a cheery smile before they walked into the room. The change was instantaneous in her. The second she was inside her entire demeanor changed, especially towards Cas. It was a level of professionalism he'd have to slowly test the boundaries of. And hopefully not ruin with his loud mouth.

"Good to see you, boy."

"Good to be here," Dean replied, taking a seat next to Bobby.

"I trust you've settled in already?"

Dean looked up at Cas and even the tone he was using, although friendly, vibrated with a demand for respect. "Yeah, Pamela helped me out."

"Do you have your go-bag?"

"Stashed under my tablet."

"Good. We're going to Medford, Wisconsin."

"And what's so important in Medford?" Ellen asked as she accepted her copy of the file.

"So glad you asked," Charlie said as she walked in. "Sorry for the delay, computer wouldn't transfer it to the room. They updated to different hardware in here even though I told them it wasn't necessary." Cas raised his eyebrow at her and she settled into her own chair. "Family mutilations."

Dean winced. It looked like there would be no training wheels.

"Well, sort of."

Dean opened his own file and thumbed through it. He frowned. "The children are all left alive."

"So we know he ain't a family annihilator. I don't know if that's good or not. These kids are never gonna recover," Bobby grumbled as he flipped through the crime scene photos.

"If he leaves the kids alive shouldn't we have a sketch or something already?" Dean asked as he rustled the pages back and forth.

"We do," Castiel acknowledged. He nodded Charlie the go ahead. An image of a clown popped up on the screen.

"You have to go be kidding me," Dean and Pamela chorused at the same time.

"I'm afraid not," Castiel mumbled sitting down with them. "There have been three families so far and every time the child said that their clown friend killed their parents."

"Hold on, friend?" Bobby frowned. "The kids knew the guy?"

"Not really. I mean, it seems like it's a 'picked up a stray puppy' type of clown friend," Charlie added as she pulled up the pictures of the families on the screen. Dean winced a little at seeing the crime scene photos blown up so large.

"There's no sign of force entry so-"

"The children admitted to letting them in."

"Jesus. Don't they know better than to let strangers in?" Dean mumbled to himself. The bodies almost looked like they'd been torn apart. Pieces scattered across the bedroom.

"Well, these kids are still pretty young. I mean- 'if you sprinkle them with glitter and tell 'em it's pixie dust- they'll jump off the roof'- young."

"That's unsettling." Ellen closed her folder and rubbed at her eyes.

"It is. Which is why we're going. Wheels up in thirty." Castiel closed his own folder.

The group got up, knowing they had been dismissed and walked out. Dean lingered for a moment. He waited a little for Castiel to notice and wasn't disappointed. "Is there something I can help you with Winchester?" Dean frowned a little at how formal it sounded but tried not to let it get to him.

"No, just ah. First day and everything. Trying to get used to things," he replied and attempted to hurry out of the office.

A hand on his shoulder paused him. Although his mouth showed no change in expression, Castiel's eyes softened a little. "We'll be meeting downstairs to get our lift to the jet, Dean. I hope you packed everything I told you to. This may take a few days."

Dean smiled a little, feeling elated and nodded. He was halfway down to the garage with the others before it sank in.

Jet.

Flying.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"Nervous flier?"

Dean turned towards Charlie as she sat down next to him. "You could say that."

"You know, there really aren't that many-"

"Please don't start listing statistics. It never helps."

Charlie gave him a lopsided smile and a small shrug of the shoulders. He appreciated her trying. Cas had warned him that their job would require a certain amount of flying but Wisconsin was only a fourteen hour drive away. He'd rather have driven. When Dean had first sat down he'd tried to stare at the pictures of the crime scenes, hoping the horror printed out in front of him would distract him. It had only succeeded in making him a little nauseous.

"Is it a phobia or something you could work on? 'Cause you're kinda shit out of luck with this job."

"I'm aware." Dean had to control himself from snapping. It wasn't her fault that he had issues with heavy metal objects soaring through the air on jets. Sam had told him he had control issues. Dean had told him planes were unnatural.

"You should look into anxiety medication," Castiel offered offhandedly as he settled back into his own seat. "In any case we'll be arriving in about half an hour. Officer Hayden will be there to meet us with our vehicles. It'll be around an hour drive to Medford from the Central Airport."

"I'm not a big fan of medication," Dean mumbled as he gripped the chair a little tighter as they hit an air hole.

"There's no shame in needing a little help," Ellen offered kindly. "It's like my late husband taking pain pills for his blown knee."

Dean huffed a little and tried to settle back down. For the most part, the rest of the flight went without too many freak outs. Focusing on the case wasn't working and they'd discussed everything they could without being at the location. So, instead, he focused on Cas. The guy was still obsessively reading through the file when everyone else was prepping themselves mentally for what they were about to go deal with. Even the few times that the plane jolted Cas seemed to never move. Barely even shake. For whatever reason Dean found that calming. Once or twice during the last few minutes they'd shared eye contact. Every time Cas had given him an adorable, confused 'can I help you?' look. And every time Dean had shaken his head and tried to look elsewhere. It didn't work for long.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"This is stupid."

Castiel stared at Dean for a moment before getting out of the car and putting on his sunglasses. There were no clouds and it was bright. Loud noises surrounded them and flashing lights lit up any dark shadows around buildings.

"It's the most obvious and viable lead."

"We're at a damn carnival."

"Which would make sense seeing as our unsub has been parading around in a clown suite."

"Right," Dean grumbled. It wasn't that he had a problem with carnival's, that was Sam's thing. He'd just expected something a little more.. dark out of the first case he worked. Something like Dahmer, Bundy or Ressler. Not a brightly lit landscape filled with 'it's not gonna be a damn clown'. "So what are we even looking for?"

"First of all we're going to find the owner."

"Just us?"

Cas smiled a little behind his sunglasses. "The others are at the homes of the previous victims. We'll have plenty of time to go over them ourselves. For now, I want you to see the difference between how we handle interviews and how they did it in your unit."

"I doubt there's much difference in the way you interrogate people," Dean grumbled as they tried to maneuver through the throng of people. For having three murders in their town they all seemed pretty cheerful.

"For one, interrogation is for the police office. Right now we're just asking questions, trying to gain insight."

"If you say so..."

After a few unsuccessful rounds through the carnival they finally found a sign that at least had the name of the owner on it. J. Cooper. Of course it had taken them a little longer to find Mr. Cooper's office due to Dean's accidental poor choice of wording towards a blind knife thrower. Dean didn't think they'd found anything useful. The carnival did its rounds and for the most part hadn't had any trouble yet. The owner gave his condolences to the families and informed them that there weren't any costumes missing and the sketch didn't look like any of his workers.

"They all look the same anyway" Dean had snapped a little.

Castiel had apologized and they were now sitting in the FBI issued black van ready to head back to the others. "You know, we want to work _with _the locals. Not against them."

"That was useless and you know it."

"You might want to check that temper of yours a little in the future." It sounded like a friendly suggestion but the steel behind Cas' eyes told Dean that it was an order.

Dean sighed. "Yeah. Shit. My bad. I didn't exactly work with the most honest or forthright people before."

"Which is why I wanted you to accompany me to this."

Castiel turned the key in the ignition and the car rumbled to life. He looked behind him to pull out when Dean reached over and grasped his forearm firmly.

"What are you-?"

"Just two seconds."

Confused, Cas turned the car back off and tried to see what Dean was so interested in. Just before he started feeling impatient Dean lifted his arm and pointed into the edge of the crowd. "That little empty pocket right there. I swear I saw..." The sentence trailed off into silence as they zeroed in on the area. Although whatever had first caught Dean's attention first there was a family standing towards the edge. Their daughter was yanking at the mothers arm pointing towards the edges behind the broken down cars.

"We should go talk to them."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Dean's hunch had been right.

Admitted, it had taken a day or so for anything to happen but he hadn't been hallucinating. They'd spoken to the family and to the daughter who said she wanted to spend more time with her 'friend.' Castiel had told them it wasn't anything too much to worry about. He didn't want to spook the family without needing to, but there was a chance that they could be a target. At Dean's insistence they set up a surveillance team outside of their house. He'd originally wanted them out of the house completely but the team argued that it would draw up too much attention. It was better if they stayed. To Dean it felt like they were using them as bait.

The 'clown man' did come. They'd had to chase him back to the carnival before apprehending him.

And the family was safe.

"_A killer clown?" _

Dean laughed into the phone as he tossed his jacket into the rickety motel room chair. He'd been offered the same accommodations as the rest of the team at the same hotel. The BAU kept a certain amount of budget aside to make sure that they had a place to stay during an investigation. He'd had to argue for the permission to stay at a different establishment. It wasn't that they put them in five star places or anything, he'd just never felt comfortable in places that had chandeliers in the lobby.

"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't tackled the guy myself."

"_You did what?!" _

"Hey, he was gonna get away. By the by, don't ever try and run after someone in fun house."

"_What the hell happened?" _

"Nothing I couldn't handle. I tell you what though. Knew that blind guy wasn't blind. No way you throw knives that well and actually see."

"_So... your first case for the BAU was a blind, knife throwing, killer clown?" _

"Just about sums it up."

"_I told you clowns were evil." _

"Oh come on, Sammy. Once in a lifetime occurrence."

"_You know I'm going to bring this up every time you try and make fun of me again." _

"Whatever you say," Dean mumbled into the phone as he shrugged off his work shirt. He tossed on a t-shirt and shimmied into a pair of jeans. They wouldn't be leaving until mid-day the next morning so he was planning on checking out one of the local bars to have a celebratory drink.

"_So you coming home?" _

"Yeah, should be there tomorrow. We land, go home, and start again at 8am sharp."

"_All right. Don't do anything stupid, Dean." _

"I never do!"

The protest fell on deaf ears as Sam hung up. Dean shook his head and shrugged. He ran a tired hand through his hair. He'd worked long hours at his old job before but he hadn't accounted for feeling any drain on himself at all. Dean checked his watch before stuffing his wallet and his phone in his pockets and heading out the door. The hotel the team had been placed at wasn't too far from the town and neither was the motel. He could easily walk to a small local pub he'd found earlier. He'd barely been sitting for thirty minutes before the scrape of a chair alerted him that someone was joining him.

"I had a feeling I would find you here."

Dean smirked and signaled the bartender to get another drink, then pointed his thumb to the side. "I'm just celebrating my first successful case with the BAU."

Cas chuckled softly and accepted the drink from the bartender. "The others are on their way. I called them when I stepped in and saw you. They seemed disappointed that they didn't 'beat you to the punch'."

"Oh really?"

"I believe they wanted to buy a round for a job well done."

"Well they're more than welcome to still do it." Dean raised his glass and clinked it against Cas'. "Cheers then. Preemptively."

"Cheers."

"Can't leave you alone for two minutes can we?"

Dean and Cas turned around to see Pamela marching towards them, a bright smile on her face. "You can't cheers without the rest of the team here."

"My bad?"

"Oh shut up, Winchester. You're not even sorry," Ellen groused and gently punched him in the shoulder. She waved the bartender down. "He's buying!"

"What? I thought I was getting a surprise party or something."

"You were until you snuck off on your own." Bobby grabbed his beer and tilted it towards Dean in a toast.

"There goes my first paycheck," Dean mumbled but without any real feeling behind it.

Charlie laughed and laid her hand on his shoulder, "Think of it as mandatory hazing."

"If this is the worst you got, I think I'll make it to tomorrow."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

The night was dwindling down and most of the team had already called it quits. The general population in the bar was starting to dwindle too as Dean and Cas nursed their last round of beer. The conversation had long since become a comfortable silence.

Suddenly, Cas spoke up. "Is it what you expected?"

"Huh?"

"The job, is it what you expected?"

Dean chuckled and swished the last drag of his beer around the bottom of the glass before downing it. "It was certainly something different." There was another small pause. "Kinda fucked up though, ya know?"

Cas hummed and pulled out his phone as it buzzed.

"Like, some carnie got fucked in the head as a kid, and decides to hop a couple of circuits to take it out on good families."

"You shouldn't say that, Dean. I believe that 'carnie' is a slur to them."

Dean huffed and shook his head, "That's not my point. I'm just saying... I dunno. A part of me kinda understood the bangers and dealers I was working with. This though? Manipulating kids barely out of their diapers?"

Castiel tapped away at his phone.

"Am I boring you?" Dean joked, nudging his boss gently. He almost immediately drew his elbow back as he realized who he was being so cozy with. For a moment it had felt like the other times they'd spent time together. Friendly, intimate. Maybe it had been a bad idea to join the BAU. Suddenly Dean found himself obsessively trying to focus on anything but Cas' warm, strong body. Or his beer moistened lips.

"Not at all, Dean." When Cas finally looked up the focus in his expression made Dean's throat close up a little. "Our originating agent for this past case has something he wants us to look at."

"Two cases in one go? You do that often?"

"No, not at all."

"You're gonna look at it anyway aren't ya?"

Castiel smiled and pulled up a few pictures on his phone. "I usually wouldn't care but I happen to know the originating agent that's asking for inquiry through Officer Hayden."

"Right. I think that's bull, I bet you're just a big softy for helping people," Dean teased, turning in his chair to face him.

"Careful Agent Winchester. I'm still your superior and head of the BAU office."

A tingle spread through Dean at the tone in his voice. And here he thought he'd never find anything good about authority.

He blamed it on the beer.

"You're frowning."

Castiel glanced up at Dean briefly before going back to his phone. "It may actually be an unfortunate stroke of luck that we already had a case in Wisconsin."

"That bad, huh?"

"I don't know yet. I'll have to call the office chief tomorrow. If we have no other pressing cases I may go for a brief consultation."

"Fuck, that sounds serious."

"The victims are children."

Dean's gut clenched a little. "Jesus,what is it with creepy fuckers and kids."

"There's a technical answer I could give you, but it wouldn't make either of us feel better."

A small sigh escaped Dean as he rubbed his hand through his short hair. "You want company?"

"I'll send a mass message out in the morning on what they want us to do."

"Right. Yeah." Dean watched as Cas stood up and placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Your enthusiasm for the job is an asset Dean. Don't loose that."

Dean watched as Castiel dialed whoever the agent asking for him was. And if Dean's eyes lingered a little longer than necessary, it wasn't something that he was going to share with anyone else but his hand and his fantasies.


	14. Doctor Doctor Give Me The News

**A/N: **Un-beta'd. My beta is studying for their bar exam so they haven't really had a lot of time to do things. Wish them luck!

**Chapter 14: Doctor Doctor Give Me The News**

Dean woke up a little groggy to his phone beeping loudly at him. He turned and struggled in his sheets; somehow he'd gotten them tangled around his entire body during the night, and tried to blindly grab for his phone. For a moment it silenced and he almost breathed a sigh of relief before his brain caught up to him. Case. Children at risk. He was at work.

"Fuckin' ay."

It took Dean a small moment to push himself up to his elbows and lazily rub at his eyes. A deep yawn overtook him as he harshly shoved the blankets off of his body. His jaw popped from a second yawn and he winced. Once he'd gotten his legs free he tried to search for his phone. During the night it had somehow landed on the floor. It started loudly beeping at him again as he blindly groped for it.

"Hello?"

There was no answer. Dean frowned and pulled the phone away from his ear. Confusion raced through him when there wasn't an open call on his screen. A small letter shaped icon flashed at him and he sighed. Of course. Until the night before he hadn't even known he could set a text message to repeated alerts but Castiel had told him that he'd send out a message if anything was needed. He felt guilty for feeling a small buzz of excitement course through him when he read the text. They'd approved a small team to drive to Fitchburg. The rest of the team would take the jet back home. Immediately, he responded with an interest to join the group; then headed towards the shower once he'd received a confirmation. It took him until he was stepping out of his boxers to notice a small, sticky, dry patch clinging to the inside of his thigh and to the seam of his boxers.

"What the hell?"

Dean stepped into the shower and tried to figure out what he'd dreamed about. When it finally clicked he couldn't help but let his hand slip lower as he scrubbed his body down, attempting to re-live the dream.

When his phone flashed again a nervous thrum erupted in his stomach at the sight of Castiel's name.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Castiel flipped his phone shut and let himself sit down for a little. His knees felt weak and not because of the case they were about to consult on. True; sickly children, especially with evidence of foul play, always made him feel the awful. It just wasn't why his knees were shaking, though it helped. He'd gotten the clear from the Unit Chief the night before confirming a consultation.

The call he'd received after had left him feeling off balance. It had been urgent news from Zachariah, though his tone had been aggravatingly leisurely.

Meg Masters had somehow slipped from custody after her few months of captivity.

Frustration started to weave its way into his emotions as Castiel recounted the details in his head. She wasn't dead; they felt confident in that, but when the officers had walked into her cell in the morning, a week ago, she had been missing. Castiel had been furious, almost to the point of talking back to a superior ranking officer, that he hadn't been informed until now. The security cameras had seemed to friz out for a few seconds. They assumed it had been a splice by whoever helped her get out of lock-down. The disquieting part of it was the only way that she could have gotten out of the cell was if she'd had help from someone on the official line.

The biggest pit in his stomach had been the command not to inform Dean of it. He'd argued against it vehemently, the Winchesters deserved to know, but had been shut down on every chain command. The amount of secrecy he was being forced to undergo made him feel like he was playing undercover. He'd finally been comfortable in the new identity he'd received from Interpol. It was like he was loosing it all over again. There was a small part of him also bothered by the fact that he was questioning the orders of his superiors.

But something felt off and he'd long ago learned to trust his instincts.

He rubbed a tired hand at the back of his neck. An unsettling, cold chill ran up his spine. Castiel shivered. He'd read the files at nauseum and understood exactly who Meg Masters was in the big game. And what her escape would mean for Lucifer. Violent images passed through his mind as he dressed himself. Castiel's hands froze as he twisted the cold knob of the sink on. The one time he could recall in his adult life seeing him... that wink, that smugness. He shook his head and turned the knob off. Lucifer was under permanent lock down, in a solitary cell, and under heavy guard. Castiel had been assured that the worst that... his brother was getting up to was rather inappropriate images in his knitting.

A loud knocking at his door roused him out of his thoughts. "One moment!"

Castiel splashed the water that had collected in the sink into his face, pulled the plug, and took a deep breath. He scrubbed his face clean and dry before going to answer the door. Ellen stood on the other side with her own bag slung over her shoulder. "Singer, Barnes, and Bradbury are heading back. Charlie's going to pull up anything we need for this case and they're going to consult from Quantico if they can."

"That sounds fine. Be sure they take some time to take care of any personal business before coming back to the office."

"I don't think they're physically capable of that." Ellen smiled ruefully at Cas. "So," she clapped her hands together as he let her into his hotel room. "What's it look like we're dealing with?"

"Sick, some already dead, children."

"Sick kids?" Ellen frowned. "Isn't this usually something for the CDC?"

"Generally, yes. Center for Disease Control officials on site have yet to discover a rampant virus or bacteria, and they've confirmed that at the very least it's not spreading outside of the city. No similar cases have been reported nor do they have an available record of something happening in the past. At least not in Fitchburg."

"Foul play?"

"It's what they're suspecting, and it was enough of a loop hole for us to be invited in. The locals are distressed."

"I would be too," Ellen muttered, thinking of Jo. "I've got the car out front, I'll give Winchester a call and make sure he's ready to go."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"So when are you coming home then?"

Sam rummaged around the mostly empty cupboards. He found a box of mac and cheese and their only pot. A small chuckle built up as he thought of all the late night dinners Dean had made for him; after their father had died and Mary hadn't been able to stay home very often. It had been a luxury event the few nights they could afford sausages and Dean minced them in with it.

"_Dunno honestly. Cas says we're just consulting and I figure that shouldn't take more than a day." _

"All right, okay. That's a little unexpected."

"_For you and me both. Really though, should be pretty quick and then we're flying back."_

Sam laughed outright, "How's that going for ya? The flying."

"_Shut up. I'm gonna go now, Ellen's at the door." _

There was a steady loud beep on the dead line and Sam slid his cellphone back into his pocket. He'd been a little worried. Despite how much he teased he knew that the flying was an issue for his brother. The job itself also made him uneasy. He'd never been one to try and baby his older brother, or hold him back from anything, but at least back in Oklahoma City he'd stayed local. If something happened during a case it'd be a short drive to whatever hospital they would stash his brother at. It was easier to deal with.

But, Sam couldn't exactly complain.

He stirred the macaroni in the pot as he mentally set a timer so the noodles wouldn't overcook.

Dean had always been a man of action. The few times he'd been forced to remain even relatively cooped up he'd been a pain. That was easy to ignore. But months of inaction generally left his brother depressed.

Still, neither of those issues were the ones worrying him the most.

The most pressing issue he had was related to himself. He was well aware that the reason he'd been found was that the BAU had been flown in and a joint taskforce with the CIA had been arranged. These people Dean was working with... they would know things about him, and he didn't want it to reflect on his brother. Although Dean had demanded full disclosure from him after his kidnapping Sam hadn't exactly followed that through. The omissions tasted rotten in his mouth but he'd been forthright in the interviews. Surely Agent Novak or someone had told him of the strange video, even if they'd never called Sam for any follow up questions.

The move had been somewhat helpful. At the very least he wasn't getting dirty looks everywhere like he had been back at the precinct. Of course it had raised suspicions with him being targeted, among the other 'victims' they'd found on the abandoned piece of land. It hadn't helped when it had gotten out that the files that Sam had accessed seemed to be less than legally acquired. He'd even heard Gordon suggest that Sam was guilty of aiding Azazel. Playing victim. That the bombing at the OKC office had been his fault, after all. What were the odds that Jessica had burnt to a crisp and he was alive? They were never too far apart. Sam had been removed from the premise after that. Beating an FBI agent to a pulp was frowned upon.

The worst part was, Sam had been starting to consider it a possibility. Of course he knew he hadn't actively done anything. More than that, he knew about as much about bomb making as he did needle point. But he hadn't been able to shake off the words on the video. That he was special. That they'd all been special. They'd been picked. Maybe all those people, maybe Jess, had died because he'd worked there. What if Dean had been among the victims?

It wasn't an alternative he wanted to think about.

So yeah, the move had been a little helpful. No more dirty looks and venomous whispers, but it hadn't shut his own brain up. As he ate his mac and cheese in silence he wondered if it would've helped if Dean hadn't left immediately. Their new apartment was cozy, a nice area, and the surrounding park had a lot of green. It was downright domestic in a way that their old place had never managed to be. But maybe that was just the change in weather. Either way, it was a nice place, but it seemed empty at the moment, and it had nothing to do with the lack of furniture or decoration.

Deciding he'd done enough brooding, the walls were damn near darkening with his thoughts, he tossed his bowl into the sink. So far he hadn't a lot of luck on the job front. Sam had even asked the front desk if there was a job he could be doing at the apartment complex. They'd promised to give him a call but that was it. He was just lucky that he'd been able to pick up the rental from the Quantico field office. They'd barely been in town for a week so he hadn't been able to figure out the best way to move around the public transit network. A small sigh escaped him as he grabbed the keys from the counter in the kitchen. Even if there was little chance that anything had changed from yesterday's tour around the town, it was better than staying cooped up in the empty apartment with his thoughts.

At least the weather was nice.

Sam found himself relaxing a little as he drove around. Briefly he considered obnoxiously going to every single professional establishment he saw too. If nothing else he was sure he could do a secretary job. Hell, he'd shuffled papers around for the entire time he'd been doing his internship at the OKC office. The thought stayed in his head no longer than it had taken to think it. It made him wonder what his permanent record would show if they requested for background information. He hadn't been cleared back to the office yet but surely Starbucks would hire him?

A few unsuccessful hours later he found himself back at the apartment and in no better of a mood.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"Are we really the right people for this?" Dean asked as they walked through the hospital.

"I know how you feel, but the CDC even asked for us," Ellen said as she led Dean through the corridors to where Cas was already talking to the doctors.

"I highly doubt that," Dean muttered. "I get what we do. Really, I understand that what we do is a science. But they're like, real science people. I don't think they'd ask us to come in and work some shrink stuff on comatose kids."

Ellen laughed. "Fair enough. Let's just say the officer in charge is an acquaintance of Cas' and he's got enough swaying power to ask for us to come here."

"Hey as long as no one side-eyes us while we're trying to help I could care less."

"I think we'll be fine," Ellen said as she flashed her badge at the nurse.

The closer they got to the ICU area the more crowded the hallways became. It didn't take very long for Dean to be dodging elbows as nurses and doctors scurried down the hallways. By the time they'd made it to Cas, Dean was holding his arms tightly to himself and glowering slightly.

"Those the kids?"

Castiel looked up at Dean and Ellen approaching and nodded. He turned his eyes back towards the children behind the glass doors and frowned.

"You two are the other agents, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir. Agent Harvelle and this is Agent Winchester." They shook hands with the doctor.

"Doctor Hydecker, I'm the main attending physician."

"And? What we've got so far," Dean asked as he peered into the room. The children looked pale, sweaty, but mostly like they were asleep. "What's wrong with them?"

"System failure."

"That's rather severe."

"It is," the doctor flipped through a few papers on his clipboard. "We've already lost two children, but we're praying for the rest."

"Prayer doesn't cure sick kids though," Dean muttered to himself. To his misfortune he'd spoken it loud enough for his companions to hear it. Ellen and Cas glared at him.

"True, Agent Winchester." The doctor sighed. "We've ruled out every autoimmune disease and so far no allergens have been found in any of the homes. Whatever... 'it' is strikes relatively quickly and there's a rapid decrease in organ function, followed by coma and then their bodies just... quit."

"Thank you, doctor. We'd like a list of the patient names and families," Castiel interrupted. They had a copy of the medical files and he'd been talking details with the doctor for the past hour.

"What for? We didn't find anything."

"Every little bit is helpful," Castiel said patiently. He held his hand out for the paperwork he knew the doctor had to already have in hand.

Dr. Hydecker scowled a little before handing over the papers, then sighing. "Just go easy on them. They're already going through a lot. As long as it helps, I guess."

"I assure you that we are trained to do our job well."

"Well he's just a damn ball of sunshine, isn't he?" Dean mumbled as they watched the doctor waltz back into the room.

"It is a rather troubling case," Cas defended absentmindedly as he ruffled through the papers. "We should begin."

The rest of the day was spent interviewing the families. For the most part the most common answers they received were the doctor given ones. They'd probably left a window open. A harsh cold. Pneumonia. Except the parents could swear that when the second child in the family became ill that they'd taken precautions. They left the speculation on disease to the doctors and focused on the families. Due to the amount of time it had taken them to drive to the city they'd only had a chance to do consultation with the doctors and families. They still needed to investigate the homes and get permission to do so. However, with it nearing the late evening it didn't seem wise or appropriate to do.

"So I guess we're staying another day?" Ellen asked as they packed up their bags at the police department.

"If we can't find anything conclusive in the morning we will be flying back to Quantico. While what's happening here is tragic, we do have other cases waiting for us."

"Sounds like fun," Dean griped sarcastically before getting up and stretching. "I guess hit me up tomorrow then."

Castiel frowned, puzzled as Dean started to walk out of the precinct. "Where are you going?"

"To get some shut eye."

"You don't even know where they've put us up yet," Ellen commented as they hurried to catch up with him.

"I'll make my own arrangements. Seriously it's no big deal. Hotels just make me itchy." Dean shrugged and left the explanation at that. Other than general discomfort, if the last hotel had been any indication, he wouldn't be comfortable staying at the new place. It didn't exactly give him pleasant memories. His little stint with delinquency in his youth hadn't left many places unscathed.

"You are extremely stubborn," Castiel complained but there was a small smirk tugging at the edge of his lip. "At the very least we can drop you off somewhere."

"You two have fun with that." Ellen waved over one of the officers who'd offered to chauffeur them earlier. "I'm tired and gonna get some shut eye. I'll see ya'll in the morning."

Dean and Castiel waved goodbye to her and then climbed into the SUV. Most of the drive was spent with Dean messing around on Castiel's cellphone to find a suitable motel. After awhile Dean felt the need to make conversation. "So? Doing a favor for an old friend huh?"

Castiel's head barely twitched. His eyes glanced towards him briefly before returning to driving. "Yes."

"Who is it?"

"No one particularly important."

"Come on, Cas. You pulled half the team in for this."

"I did no such thing. We don't go anywhere without approval."

"Point still stands. This really isn't something up our alley, is it?" An irrational part of him wanted to know who this person in Cas' life was. It seemed like someone important and for whatever reason he felt the burning need to know this detail. It was trivial and small and so not any of his business. It didn't stop him from feeling irritated at not knowing who, and how important this 'officer' was to him. So far they hadn't even been introduced at the department.

"An old military friend," Castiel finally admitted, voice soft.

"Oh. Well, that's respectable," Dean replied feeling a little silly. "What branch? Army or?" He tried to imagine Cas in any of the uniforms. All of the thoughts sent pleased pulses of heat from his chest, down to his stomach, before settling around waist and vibrating.

"Royal Marines."

Dean blinked. "What?"

Castiel smiled a little as he turned down the street towards the motel that Dean had picked out. "I'm not originally an American."

"Bull shit, you don't even have an accent."

"Some people are more efficient with dialect than others, Dean."

"Dialect, right."

Silence passed between them for a moment. "Does that bother you? You didn't strike me as someone who would feel particularly phobic of-"

"Oh no no! Not at all. Just, huh. You're full of surprises. I like that." Dean wasn't about to go admitting that for the past few minutes he'd been imagining an accent and being a little too enthusiastically thrilled by it.

Castiel hesitated for a second as they pulled up to the small motel lot; the sign flashed a little with the dying bulb light. It wasn't something he normally shared and generally kept under wraps, but he wanted Dean to get to know him. He wanted to feel close to him. For the first time, in a long time, he was actually a little upset about having to keep his identity under wraps. The strict protective measures taken had never seemed so restrictive before. Maybe it had been the phone call. The new secrecy. But if he couldn't share everything he could at least pepper some information in. "I speak Russian as well."

"You're lying," Dean said as he let the door hang open, his go-bag slung over his shoulder, one foot out of the door already.

"Spokoynaya nochi, Agent Winchester."

"Well that's hot." As soon as the words slipped out of his mouth Dean froze. His ears warmed up at the edges as he struggled to find a way to take the words back. "So I'm just. That's cool, I'll see you in the morning." Dean slipped out of the car and stumbled a little in his haste to get away.

That had been humiliating.

Of course, Castiel didn't think so. He leaned against the steering wheel a little, making sure that Dean made it to the front desk all right at least. Once the man had disappeared out of sight he whispered, "Priyatnykh snov."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Dean marched into the motel room after having a short and dazed conversation with the owner; including a brief back and forth with her son. He'd chuckled to himself a little as he'd watched the older son, Michael, make the younger brother dinner in the back. Back in the day he'd spent many of his evenings doing just the same for Sammy. The amusement had only lasted for a moment. As Castiel had pulled out of the parking lot Dean had turned back around. They'd shared a short wave and Dean's heart was hammering again.

Cas.

Something he needed to nip in the bud right now.

Unless...Unless he could be sneaky about it, he told himself when he stepped into the shower. As long as it stayed in his head he hadn't violated any protocols or rules. No illegal office romances. The water felt like warm, kneading fingers down his back. He imagined Castiel spread out beneath him; flushed and red cheeked, cursing in Russian as Dean bit at his neck. The car windows would be rolled up to prevent sound. They'd be in the basement level of the Quantico parking building...

"God damn it," Dean groaned as he came in spurts onto the shower wall. His breath stuttered out in shorts pants and he had to swallow the spit that had gathered into his mouth to calm down. "I'm screwed."

Sleep didn't come easy that night. He spent most of it working on the case. Briefly, Dean had stepped out to grab himself some coffee and had promptly dumped it into the bin when he thought he saw one of the doctor's from the hospital creeping to a car. Obviously he needed sleep if he was hallucinating. He fell asleep around 2am with his cheek pressed against the documents.

The morning didn't bring any relief either.

Dean didn't bother to do anything but change into a new shirt and shrug a jacket on. He glanced at the clock, the numbers flashing eight, and groaned. He still had a little while before official wake up call and they were back to trying to figure this thing out with jack shit to go on. At the very least he could go grab some breakfast in the motel lobby. He hadn't expected to find the motel owners son sitting, looking quite dejected, on a bench. Confused and feeling a moment of some misguided 'parental' affection for the young kid; he approached.

"Something wrong?"

The boy barely looked up. "Asher's sick."

"Who?"

"My little brother," the boy bit his lip and tried to hide the sniffle wanting to escape him. "Pneumonia or something. He's in the hospital. It's my fault."

"Hey, come on. Pneumonia's nature's fault."

"I should've made sure the window was closed."

Their conversation was paused by the mother hurrying out of the motel. "Come on," she smiled apologetically at Dean. "Sorry about this. Stop bothering the nice man, Michael. Let's go."

The boy gave him a small forlorn look before being pulled into the car by his mother. An ugly feeling started twisting in his gut. Breakfast was of course out of the option now as she'd closed the office but that wasn't it. He fished his cellphone out of his pocket and speed dialed Cas. He'd be awake already.

"_Yes?_"

"That's no way to answer a phone," Dean joked, unable to help it. "But seriously, where are you guys right now?"

"_On our way to you. I'm waiting for Agent Harvelle to come down." _

"Okay good. Listen, the motel I'm staying at? One of the kids got sick. The owner lady's. They're heading to the hospital now, the kid's already there I think. You should roll by there before you come pick me up."

"_Another child?" _

"Yeah I know. It's families getting sick right?"

"_It appears to be so. Ellen and I discovered a pattern last night as well. It seems to exclusive be affecting families with siblings." _

"So I guess you couldn't sleep either."

Dean could hear a fond smile in Cas' voice. _"If you wouldn't be so stubborn you would've been able to join us."_

"A little too late to worry about that. Just make sure that the brother gets checked out too before you guys head over here."

The phone line went dead without a good bye.

He let the motel door bang shut with carelessness as he stripped off his jacket and went back to looking through the papers. Dean pulled out a map of the area and re-marked the houses of the other victims, adding the motel to the list. Grabbing a red pen he circled all the dots and felt an uncomfortable chill down his spine. Every single afflicted family surrounded the Dane County Memorial Hospital. That couldn't be a coincidence. From what he remembered from his training they called it a comfort zone and it was eerie that it would center around a hospital. Well, _the _hospital seeing as none of the sick children had been sent anywhere else.

Dean was still shuffling through the papers when he heard the knock at his door. Pen in his mouth, and not taking his eyes off the map, he fumbled with the door until it opened.

"Getting a head start, are we?" Ellen waltzed in, Cas in tow.

"I think I got something," Dean mumbled around the pen before pulling it out and leading them to the small motel room table. He spread the map out on the table and turned it towards them, tapping the pen at the circle he'd drawn. "Every single one of the cases."

"With the addition of the newest case I don't think its speculation anymore," Castiel mumbled as he took a seat, brow furrowed.

One of the first things they'd looked at had been proximity, if not simply for spread of disease reasons. The newest case made it painfully obvious. Dean had done well for coming to the conclusion on his own.

"This means we have to dig through all the employee records, don't we?"

Castiel looked up at Dean. "Sort of. We'll call Charlie and have her narrow down the parameters and fax them to the Department. As nice as it would be to believe that hospitals wouldn't hire people with disturbances in their background..." he sighed, "we'll have to include nurses as well. Anyone with any brief medical background."

"Or it could be an evil janitor?" Dean suggested. Ellen rolled her eyes while Cas stared at him blankly. "Come on, Scooby Doo?" When Castiel continued to stare Dean sighed and shrugged his jacket back on. "You need to get a better sense of humor."

"My sense of humor is just fine, Agent Winchester," Castiel retorted gathering up a few of the papers they didn't have copies of at the station. "I just find yours to be off-the mark."

"Come on, it was a little bit funny," Dean argued, turning to Ellen.

He knew he'd won when she couldn't contain her small smile.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

A few hours into going through background files they were no further along. The sun was starting to set and they were running out of their allotted time for consultation. While it would've been nice to have all the time in the world it wasn't an official case. Fitchburg's crime rate wasn't very high either, so most of the officers had returned home. Well, those that weren't out on patrol. The only sound other than the shuffling of paper and tired yawns was a creaky ceiling fan, whirring a little lopsided.

"Are you sure this is all of them?" Castiel spoke out loud into the speaker.

"_Yes sir. I even went to some of their schooling files looking for infractions. Anything that's been flagged you've got." _

Ellen cursed and Dean leaned back in his chair. Grumbling something about coffee he stood and up and wandered towards the break room. With a sigh he turned the pot on. He rubbed his hand across his face while listening to the drip of the coffee pot. Even if it wasn't an official case it didn't sit right with him that he was about to fail his second mission out with the BAU. Hell, even if it weren't for the job, Dean Winchester never left unfinished business. Or at least did his best not to. While working at the gang unit they'd worked in a concentrated area. If something didn't get solved that night he could go back to it weeks later. That wasn't a luxury he had here.

He poured himself a cup of coffee and his eyes blinked open in surprise. It was damn good. Dean walked out of the small break room and approached the first officer he saw. "Felt like I had to take a moment's break to give credit where credit's due. Damn good office coffee."

The officer laughed at him and shook his head. "I'd take that back. That's not something we usually have around here. Officer Siege is pregnant and according to her she's 'not about to put that crap' into her body and poison her baby. As long as she keeps bringing it herself, we don't care."

Dean chuckled and shook his head. It reminded him a little of when she'd been pregnant with Ben. "I thought it was suspiciously good for cop coffee."

His mind froze for a little before whirring into action. Nearly spilling his coffee he marched back into the conference room they were using. Castiel and Ellen looked up bewildered at his entrance as he moved over and pushed the call button to Charlie.

"_At your service as always. What's up?" _

"In the records, I want you to change what you're looking for. Pull up all the files that have never had anything wrong. I mean not one malpractice, not one lawsuit, accident, and hell if they list it, not a single complaint."

"_Uh, sure. I can do that." _

"Any particular reason for this?"

Dean shrugged and enjoyed a sip of his coffee. "Well, I figure, this.. coma disease thing is pretty damn subtle. It's probably why they can't find documents with similar cases 'cause it's such a freak anomaly, right?"

"I guess." Ellen leaned her chin on her hand, watching Dean intently.

"So, you'd have to be pretty damn good right? To cover your tracks and make sure you didn't get connected just in case anyone even accidentally found a similar case. Make sure you were squeaky clean so that they wouldn't even think to pull you into the suspect pool."

Castiel smiled, "Impressive theory."

They waited half an hour as they canvased their original documents again before the speaker crackled. _"Someone tell Agent Winchester what he's won." _

"Twins and a beach vacation?" Dean ventured out feeling uplifted. The sun had gone down and it was nearing the evening but if they could make significant progress in the last stretch they might be able to help still.

"_So, I've got a couple of guys. Nothing too big actually. But, I figured I'd go a step further and look into the hospitals and junk they'd worked in before and yadi-yadi. They check out pretty well but there's one guy that's kind of raising the type of flags I think you guys are looking for. Sending the info- now." _

"Thank you Miss Bradbury," Castiel said as he walked over to the loudly whirring printer.

Dean hurriedly flipped through the pages looking at the cases that Charlie had flagged for them at the hospitals. "It's not exactly the same but similar enough."

"Maybe he worked up to it? Perfected the illness. Ya know?" Ellen muttered.

"That's a scary thought, sounds more like a terrorist thing. Biological warfare," Dean answered, flipping to the personal information page of the person who'd worked at every hospital incident.

"I think it's a little more of convenience and simple trial and error," Castiel murmured as he shook his head. "We need to get to the hospital."

They left the files on the table, with the ID picture of Dr. Hydecker staring up at the ceiling.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

They caught him trying to sneak in through the window at the motel. They'd gotten a warrant for arrest from a rather sleepy judge before driving to the hospital. They'd arrived to find him gone. One of the nurses informed them that he'd left early that day. The next priority had been to secure the latest victim's family. The nurse had told them that because the mother wouldn't be able to help out much and the older son running himself ragged at the hospital; the mother had chosen to take them both home for the night.

Not wanting to draw too much attention, they didn't want to spook the doctor, they'd left their lights off and parked a street down before moving in. Castiel had been the first to reach him, pointing a gun to Hydecker's lower back as he tried to crawl out of the children's bedroom.

While the cases hadn't been identical, they'd found that at the hospitals he'd worked at previously had suffered small break outs of diseases where all the children had perished. The numbers had started small but once the 'outbreak' had passed, no such incident had occurred again. Hydecker had probably started out with an actually ill child and developed an obsession. Being the main physician and doctor in charge of the cases meant he could keep the children sick. It also meant that he could edit the information on the files and purposely misdiagnose. Having one sibling already in the hospital gave him easy access to the homes.

Depressingly clever.

Dean sighed as he sipped on his coffee. Leave it to fate for them to have wrapped up the case by the time even selling beer was illegal. He gave the waitress, who re-refreshed his cup of coffee, a tired smile.

Despite having solved the case he didn't find himself feeling as satisfied as he should've.

"Of course you'd be awake."

Dean's head snapped up as Castiel sat down across from him. He hadn't even heard the bell at the top of the door ring. He frowned and sipped on his coffee. "How'd you find me?"

"Well, seeing as all the bars are closed and this was the only open establishment..." Cas smiled and shrugged, waving the waitress over for his own cup of coffee.

"You think you know me so well."

"I _am_ a profiler, Dean."

"And here I thought it was just 'cause you liked me special," Dean grunted into his coffee. It tasted bitter.

"I like you plenty, Dean Winchester," Castiel murmured with a soft expression in his eyes. "You're troubled."

Dean snorted and turned to stubbornly stare out of the window. His gaze remained locked as he gripped his cup tightly. "Aren't you?"

"You did a good thing today Dean. We can chalk this up to a victory."

"Yeah well." The door chimed in the background. "It just bothers me."

Companionable silence passed between them for a few minutes before Castiel spoke. "It's the children, isn't it?"

"First we've got the killer clown using kids and then we've got a damn doctor playing around with them."

"Munchausen by proxy is actually fairly rare, Dean."

"He's a damn doctor. He's supposed to be taking care of these kids." Dean ran an agitated hand through his hair. "It's like dirty cops or fuckin' parents that fuck around with their kids. You're supposed to be able to trust these guys with 'em." Castiel opened his mouth to speak before Dean barreled forward. "I've put away some sick puppies but man. It's... kids, I just didn't think it happened this often." He bit his lip and swallowed thickly. The boys at the motel had reminded him a little more of himself and Sammy than he cared to admit. It terrified him that as a child that could've been something to have happened. That the few times Sam had gotten sick and Mary had been working late night hours he could've lost him to a guy like Hydecker.

"The doctors assure me that the remaining children will make a full recovery."

Dean huffed. "You sure none of them have Munchhausen?"

Castiel smiled and reached a tentative hand a cross the table. He placed it on Dean's forearm in an attempt to offer comfort. "I admit it's rather unusual for us two get two cases involving children back to back like this, but Dean... our job at the BAU is to find these people, these specific-," Castiel hesitated. He didn't like assigning morality to a science, "-evils. It gets easier."

"I'm not worried about that," Dean mumbled, feeling his heart speed up a little as he stared at Castiel's hand warmly settled on his arm. He swallowed and fought back the urge to pull his hand back a little so that their palms could slide together.

"Then hopefully next time I won't have to search for the closest late night establishment to find you."

Dean looked up and fought to show any type of emotion. The expression on Cas' face was soft and not for the first time did Dean realize just how different 'boss' Castiel and well... _Cas _were. A part of him wanted to make an active attempt to make sure that he finished out every case at a bar. He liked Cas taking the time to seek him out. Although he'd had so few of them he thrived on these moments. These little after thoughts and to some extent pep talks. But he also knew having a drinking habit like that would end up reflecting poorly on his work performance. Besides, Cas had already seen him wasted enough times, he didn't want the other man to think he was some washed out alcoholic. Still, he warmed himself with the thought that Castiel _had _come looking for him. He fought to make himself seem cocky. "Well, you know you don't have to keep coming to look for me," he hurried on before he could make it sound like a rejection of Cas' attention. "Maybe if we didn't keep staying up until late in the evening you could find me at a diner with some pie instead."

Castiel's eyes were guarded, and for a moment Dean felt like he'd messed it up, even if he didn't quite understand _what _he was worried about messing up. But then Castiel smiled a little and shook his head. He waved his arm towards the waitress again and asked her if they had any pie.

Turned out they did.

Shocked, Dean watched as Cas' eyes crinkled a little at the edges. He should've noticed immediately that they had pie. Maybe he'd been more out of his head than he'd originally assumed. His mouth gaped a little and he could've sworn Cas almost laughed. There was a spark of teasing mirth in his eyes as the pie arrived and he handed Dean a fork.

The pie tasted sweet in his mouth as they ate in silence.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

A woman with long blond hair stood outside of a rather modest apartment building. From what she could see from the ground the place was still sparsely furnished. For the past few days that she'd watched it she'd only noticed one man walking around, sometimes leaving the apartment to go (as she found out) job hunting. The woman knew there were supposed to be two people living there but so far she hadn't seen the other brother. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that Dean Winchester was still on a case for the BAU despite some of his teammates having returned to Virginia. A small smile curled onto her lips as she watched the other man look out through the balcony doors before flicking the light off.

"Poor Sam," the woman muttered as she slipped away into the shadows.

**A/N: **The russian says Good night and then sweet dreams. I found a few different phoentic spellings for it and picked the ones I saw pop up most often. There are also a ton of ways to say good night in Russian with different 'meanings' behind them (level of formality for one).


	15. Fortune Favors Fools

**Chapter 15: Fortune Favors Fools**

Sam woke up feeling better than he had in days. The first message on his phone was from Dean. They'd solved the case and he was going to be coming home. No surprise extra case this time around. The flight would be boarding in the afternoon but if everything went okay they should be able to get some food together; Dean had suggested going out to celebrate his first two cases. Even with his pay check not coming in for a little while longer, Dean's re-location bonus allowed them to splurge a little bit. Sam hoped that the next case would be a consultation one since they still needed to furnish their apartment more. Originally they would've done it already had it not been for the emergency case that the team had picked up. It would be nice to see him when he got back home from work instead of waiting a week. Being stuck in his own head was bad for him. It's how he'd screwed himself over originally. Sam should've shared his concerns.

It was barely noon (Sam had been surprised that he hadn't woken up at 8am sharp), but since he had time to kill he decided to give walking around town for a job one more shot. He dressed in his nicest casual clothing and combed his hair. His nerves thrummed with excitement as he bounced his way down the stairs to the car. There was a flier for the apartment gym attached to the windshield. Sam tucked it away, intending to look at it later, and re-started his search.

Perhaps the gods had decided to be kind to him that day.

He'd been driving for a little while before a small rumble in his belly reminded him that he hadn't eaten breakfast. Making a small detour, he dropped by a local bar and diner. There was a help wanted sign taped to the window that he hadn't seen before. He walked in, a mechanical buzzer announcing his presence, and headed straight for the counter. Before he could open his mouth the girl spoke up.

"Hey- I know you."

Sam stared at her for a moment, confused. "I drop in here most days, so, I'd think so?" He tried not to make it sound rude.

The blond laughed. "Sam Winchester."

"Uhm, yes?"

She extended her hand, "Before you think I'm a creep I'm Jo Harvelle. My mom's an agent at the NVACV branch, BAU unit. She works with your brother, Dean?"

"Oh!" Sam spoke, still a little confused. While he'd been interviewed and had met some of the agents he still couldn't put any names to faces. "I don't really- I haven't had a chance to really meet any of them outside of..."

Jo put a soft hand over her mouth and winced. "Shit, my bad. I got ahead of myself there. That's probably really unpleasant for you to...Anyway, nice to meet you. I've just been really curious about you guys. With your brother watching my mother's back in the field and all that."

Sam laughed. "It's okay. I don't mind. And Dean's good at his job. You can trust me on that."

"I'm sure my mom'll give me all the details when she gets home," Jo hit a button on the screen to start up a new order, "I bet you're just as happy as I am to get 'em back."

"You have no idea."

"So, what can I get for you?"

Sam blushed. It was a little weirder for him to ask for a job now. It wasn't pride, just awkwardness. He wasn't sure how he would feel about the working situations coming together so conveniently. "Actually, I was wondering about the help wanted sign?"

"Oh? Okay, that's cool." Jo turned around and tried to peer into the kitchen. "I don't actually work here most days, so hold on." She walked away and through the swing doors. Jo smiled at him as she came back out a few minutes later. "Sorry about that. I'm usually busy with finishing out my courses so I don't get to make any big decisions around here."

"That's fine, I understand. So do I?" Sam looked around a little lost. Should he go stand by the side? Sit down?

"She'll be out in a moment. She's our senior waitress."

"Right, thanks," Sam said making an aborted movement to the side before going back to standing in front of the cash register. "Actually, while I'm here. The reason I even stopped in, could I get some coffee and hash browns?"

"Coming right up," Jo said cheerfully as she punched in the order and took his money.

He was already biting into his meal by the time the woman he assumed would be deciding his fate stepped out. She had curly, light blond hair bunned up in a pony tail. Her smile was bright as she walked over to him. "Sam, right?"

Sam stood up, wiping his hands on his pants before remembering to reach for the napkin. He fumbled around with it for a second before extending his hand out. "Yes ma'am."

"Don't worry about the ma'am. Lindsey," she replied shaking his hand firmly. She sat across the table from him and laid a piece of paper on the table underneath her hands. "Jo tells me you're in need of a job?"

"Yeah. I'm not-" he paused and glanced at Jo, wondering how much of the situation Lindsey knew about. He hadn't even watched the news to see if their names had popped up with the original bombing information. He knew there was a public list of victims but didn't think their names had been shared. However, with Jo's mom working for the FBI, she was privy to a lot more information. Jo just smiled at him once he caught her eye. "- I need a little bit of income to help around the place. Me and my brother, we just moved here and I'm unemployed. I'm having some trouble transferring to a new location here."

"New to the area? Jo mentioned something like that," she nodded to herself, "what hours would you be available to work? We're pretty lax here but we like knowing schedules."

"Just about every day all day?"

"Really?" Lindsey asked a little skeptical. Usually when people sad that they were lying to get a job.

"I'm honestly not doing anything else but sitting at home on the couch or driving around trying to find a job."

"Fair enough, when would you be able to start working?"

"Whenever I'm needed to."

"Here," Lindsey handed him the application she'd been keeping underneath her hands. "You seem like a good guy and honestly you don't need a lot of experience to pour a beer or make a cappuccino. We can train you for that. I can't promise you anything, I gotta toss the application to our manager but you're the first applicant and he tends to hire first-come-first-serve basis."

Sam hurriedly filled out his application and handed it back, "Thank you. So much. Really."

"Don't worry about it. You're doing us a favor too for working for us. I'll leave you to your meal, you enjoy."

She shook hands with him one more time and as she walked off Jo gave him a thumbs up from behind the cash register. He smiled into his coffee and ate the rest of his hash browns in peace. Dean would be happy.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

The flight home hadn't been any better than the flight there. Dean had gotten himself the small reprieve when they'd driven across Wisconsin but that wasn't in the cards for the flight back to Virginia. They were having to take a commercial flight, the others having taking the private jet back home, to Dulles International Airport and it just made him more anxious. The flight itself had been more or less fine. He'd used his new favorite trick of 'watch-the-Cas' to calm his nerves. In between Ellen had played a few rounds of card games with him. It was when they were getting ready to land that he'd clutched at the seats. Castiel had thankfully pulled down the window screen. It hadn't meant that the people across the isle or in front of him would do the same. Once the other planes leaving the airport came into view, horrible images of head on collisions started firing off in his head.

Neither of the other agents had commented on it. Cas had even pushed his thigh a little closer to Dean's in a subtle sign of comfort. It had felt warm.

The sun was starting to glow orange as it descended in the sky. After a brief farewell, and a lingering look from Dean at Cas' ass while he walked away, he took a Taxi back to Woodbridge. His legs still felt shaky in the back of the car as he watched the street lights slowly turn on. The flight back had taken longer than anticipated and his anxiety had been worse than he'd originally assumed. He wasn't sure if he was going to have the energy to go out and eat. For the most part he wanted to have a beer, eat something good, and pass out. Work would start bright and early again and he had 50 hour work week ahead of him.

The choice was made for him when he walked into the apartment to a warm, mouth watering smell.

"Sammy?" Dean called out, stepping into the threshold.

"Kitchen!"

Dean smiled and shrugged out of his jacket and let his bag drop to the floor. He cursed as it landed on the ground, remembering that he'd intended to leave it at the office. He kicked off his shoes and let all of his belongings lie haphazardly in the entryway. He turned the corner into their kitchen. "What's the occasion? Thought we were going out?"

Sam turned around, a bright smile on his face. He laughed as he took in Dean's haggard appearance. "Well I'm glad I decided to cook. You look like shit, dude."

"Hey, I've been working hard," Dean mock complained, trying to straighten his sleeves.

"It's just hamburger helper but I did a little grocery shopping."

"Oh?" Dean asked as he passed the kitchen into his own room. He couldn't wait to get out of his work clothes and into something stretchy and soft.

"Yeah. I got a job."

Dean peeked his head back out from his room as he stripped, "Really? Way to go. You're not working the corner are you?"

A dishrag flew towards him. It smacked against the door frame as Dean dodged it. "Very funny, Dean."

"I thought it was," came the muffled response.

The food was ready to be served as Dean hobbled his way out, scratching at his belly. He opened up the cupboard and stared confused at the new additions to their dishes. "When'd we get real plates?"

"Don't worry Dean. They were cheap. Like, Wallmart bin cheap," Sam assured him as he turned the stove off and moved the pan off of the hot plate. "I went and got a few since I'll be starting work tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? So soon?"

Sam smiled as he reached over Dean's head, much to his brothers irritation (he felt it was a play on his shorter stature), and then started filling his plate. "I was probably being a little preemptive, but hey it worked out. I got a call about an hour or so ago saying I got the job."

"What job?" Dean asked as he pushed Sam to the side to get his own portion.

"It's at a local... bar... coffee shop, diner place," Sam attempted explaining. Bar was the wrong word to use. Yes they served drinks but it was a lot more casual than that. "They're gonna start me on the floor."

"So you're gonna be a waitress?" Dean chuckled.

"Waiter," Sam grumbled and took out two beers for them. "And it's a start."

Dean sat down on their raggedy couch and pulled their cheap coffee table closer. He raised two hands in the air in front of his chest. "I'm not hating, I promise. That's good for you Sammy."

"I thought it was," Sam said as he took his own seat.

Dean patted his arm and gave a lopsided smile. "Really. I didn't mean to be a dick."

"Yes you did."

"Okay, so maybe I did. But that's a step forward."

Sam turned the TV on and the only sound other than the last few minutes of a football game was the scrape of forks against the ceramic plates.

"Oh-" Dean turned towards his brother, confused. "- You know a Jo Harvelle?"

Dean blinked and ran through his memory. "Uh, yeah. Ellen's kid. Saw her at the office before we left."

"Blond kid?"

"That's her."

"Well she works there too."

"Well that's a fun coincidence," Dean said finishing off his beer and standing up to stretch. He bent down went to bring his dishes into the sink. "Don't fuck her," he teased as he headed towards his bedroom for an early turn in. "I'd never hear the end of it at work!"

Sam scowled but laughed a little. "You're confusing your habits with mine again, Dean." He shook his head at the TV but couldn't keep the small smile off of his face. He was glad to have his brother home, he had a job, and for the most part everything seemed to be going in the right direction again.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

He was choking on sand.

The sun as slinking down as he struggled against the wind. His face mask slipped a little to let in sharp grains. They felt like glass. He brought a gloved hand up and shoved his helmet further down and adjusted his face mask. The gun shots sounded like rain pouring down on a metal overhang. He tucked himself into a ball to roll himself down and shoved himself up when he stopped feeling the scratching at his eyes. Frantic, heart pounding, he raised his L85A2 and prayed as he tried to see and regain his balance. Worry crept across his body as he prayed for his riffle not to jam. It was basic infantry but all their specialized weapons had long run out of ammo.

A solid body tackled him from the side as he struggled to find his bearings and he felt his breath explode out of his body. He lifted his gun with both hands and attempted to swat his attacker across the cheek, if not with his gun then with his elbow. The man above him laughed, loud enough to be heard above the gun fire, or maybe he'd only heard it because it the man had been so close to him. Panic rushed through his veins as he tried to drop one hand from the gun and grab his knife. His face mask jerked to the side in the struggle.

Before he could even reach it he numbly felt something slice through his protective vest and the sharp edge of the knife stop above the thin film of his skin before sliding along it and up. His breath came in short pants as he awaited to feel a puncture deep into his gut. The man above him paused and lifted his hand up, stopping the movement of the blade. He felt the strangers hand cup his own face and slide the protective covering fully off. Now bare, he blinked rapidly trying to figure out what was happening when he saw a smile erupt across the strangers face.

"_Bozhe moi! __Ni fig_**_a _**_seb_**_e_**_!__Privet Cassiel!"_

His heart froze. The man above him laughed.

"_Kak della? __Skolko let, skolko zim!" _A bullet whizzed by his ear. _"Chort vozmi. __Ja d_**_o_**_lzhen idti__, Cassiel.__"_

Loud screaming echoed around him as the man above him smashed the butt of his own riffle across his unprotected face.

Castiel woke up sweating. His heart hammered in his chest as he struggled out of his sheets. He collapsed to the floor with his blanket wrapped around his thighs as he felt his stomach heaving. Clawing his way across the floor, Cas managed to half stumble his way into the bathroom before vomiting up spit. He hadn't eaten anything after they'd gotten home from the last case. Sweat dripped down his back as he knelt, clutching the porcelain toilet. Spittle dripped past his lower lip as he tried to spew out the awful feelings stirring in his stomach.

The memory hammered against the back of his skull as he tried to push it away.

He was better than old ghosts.

He was better than bad memories.

He was a damn grown man.

It didn't help him breathe any easier.

Eventually his heaves calmed down enough for him to lean up against the cold seat. He opened his eyes and was grateful that he'd somehow found his bathroom in the dark. At least he didn't have to deal with the painful glaring light. Castiel's legs shook as he tried to push himself up. He flushed and nearly collapsed all over again. Breathing deep he forced his back to straighten and stumbled backwards into the wall. A stuttered exhale pushed past his dry lips. He smacked them together and forced his body to move towards the sink. Forcing himself more, he flicked the light on and winced at the change in brightness.

Immediately his eyes dropped down to the pale scar he had on his stomach. It no longer looked like too much of anything. A dark, straight, line. Despite seeing himself in the mirror clearly, he still saw stitches running across the bit of flesh. Castiel clutched at the sink as he tried to calm his heart down. He stared at the man in the mirror and let his eyes drop to the tattoo on the side of his left rib. His unit number and company. With shaking hands, he lifted his hand up to it and kept it there. He held his palm firmly over the mark and stroked across the still upraised letters. The man he'd gotten the tattoo from had dug in far too deep, leaving raised bruises that he could almost read like braille.

It shouldn't have bothered him, he should've long come to terms with it.

The mission had been a special forces one; unrelated to any political power-plays, which is why he had agreed to it. A simple black market criminal prevention assignment. The group they were to apprehend was illegally dealing in firearms to begin with and furthermore terrorizing the local population.

It was the first time, as a conscious adult, that Cas had met someone from his family.

The rest of his unit had died that day.

He'd been given an honorary medal for his services and bravery. Since the day of the ceremony he'd tucked it in a lock box in a storage unit a state away. He'd survived because the people dealing arms had been a part of _his family. _Then he'd spent the rest of the battle passed out in the sand. There was no bravery, honor, or strength in that.

Cas hadn't noticed that he'd turned the sink on until the water in the sink had overflown and was soaking his feet.

He palmed the silver cross hanging around his neck as he stumbled out of the bathroom. The edges of the cross dug into his palm as he clutched at it. Castiel wasn't one for drinking but he made wobbly steps towards the cupboard he kept the fine whiskey in. For company, of course. The memories pushed forward harsher as he screwed open the top and lifted to his lips. He felt dirty as it dripped into his mouth and down his throat, burning like a hot piece of coal as it sank into his belly. Most nights he was at least refined enough to pour a glass over ice. Castiel took another swig and nearly croaked out a small whine as small droplets fell to his chest.

When he'd first showed interest in joining a military force, the marines, and specifically working towards higher unit, his mother had shown protest. His father had been impressed. He hadn't known much about his mother, until later, but his father was proud. He'd been teaching here and there but made his living as a dirt poor writer. He'd been supportive through the training. His first mission out had been a challenge but his mother had seemed to relax after he'd come back home safe.

After he'd been stitched up and finally released home after the desert incident... Castiel had come back to a bloody house.

His father was missing and his mother had been cut open in the bed.

He'd screamed until one of the neighbors had rushed into the house. Castiel vaguely remembered them calling the police as he clutched at the bloody sheets.

For such a nosy neighborhood, how had no one heard anything? How hadn't anyone checked up on them? They'd been a private family for sure, but someone, anyone, surely would've noticed their absence from the local events. Someone should've noticed.

Castiel's next few days had been spent being tossed around government facilities to be grilled for information. Most of the memories were blurry paintings of random splashes of color. How much did he know? Did he know that his family was like this? Did he know that his mother was a criminal? Did he know how many affiliations he had to a Russian syndicate? What were the secrets? Had his mother or his father displayed disturbing behavior growing up? Was he in on it? Is that why he'd joined the military?

The memories rode his body as Castiel worked through them. For a moment it felt like his heart was going to stop.

His phone buzzed.

The name read 'Dean Winchester.' _"So, when r we coming into work again?" _Followed by, _"just u know.. wanna hang out w sam." _

Castiel laughed and stumbled out onto this balcony. Breathing seemed easier all of a sudden. He leaned his hands across the concrete balcony edge and thumbed his response. He commented on Dean's timing. It was late and he shouldn't have been texting his superior ranking agent at this hour.

"_true. But u txtd back"_

Cas smiled and thumbed back the time. It didn't take long for his phone to buzz back to life again.

"_ok good.. had to plan and shit." _

A moment passed.

"_I'm holding u to that pie promise if we don't spend 4ever on the next case." _

"You can't be real," Castiel whispered as he stared at the text, warmth filling his chest. The small buzz faded away as he recounted what the Winchester family had been through. The only reason that he did have Dean in his unit. Especially because of someone from his family. While he had never met Lucifer past a glance, the Interpol interviews had explained to him in depth just who his family was, and what they were doing to the world. Playing it. It broke his heart that they'd pushed Dean and his family around like pawns. If only Dean knew... Instead of spilling his deepest feelings he told Dean, _"Of course. I look froward to it. Hopefully it will taste as good as the last one did." _

"_just letme pick the place." _

"_* let me " _

A broken laugh burst forth from his chest.

"_I will always trust your judgment, Agent Winchester." _

He took another small swig of the bottle he'd brought out on the balcony with him. Castiel settled into one of the half broken chairs he'd grabbed off of a curb.

"_u like frustrating me. 'n what r u doin up so late? Mr boss man sir we have work tom."_

The scotch felt warmer in his stomach than it had before. _"I could ask the same of you, Dean. You're the one that text messaged me." _

"_u still responded." _

Castiel felt a laugh bubbling in his sternum and let it spill past his lips for a moment. _"I will see you tomorrow morning, Agent Winchester." _

"_now ur just being a dick."_

A moment passed.

"_Good night." _

Instead of the rattle of guns and the taste of fire, Castiel crawled into bed with the image of strong arms around him. As he settled his head on his pillow he imagined someone warm and radiant, pulling him back by his waist and nuzzling into his neck. And _he _told him, that it was okay.

When his alarm buzzed loudly next to him, he groaned. The light was starting to trickle in past the blinds. His mouth felt tacky and dry as he sat up. A small smile spread onto his face and he gently touched his finger tips to his lips, testing his smile. It didn't take him very long to get dressed. Castiel only paused briefly to return the whiskey to its original place. Shortly after his conversation with Dean he'd gone to bed and passed out with relative ease.

Something live and warm underneath his skin told him it would be a good day. Once he'd made it to work he'd paused briefly in his office before finding Charlie and walking with her to the conference room. He flipped through the case as he held the door open for her to pass through first.

"So, where are we going?" Dean bit into his doughnut and Ellen gave him a look at the mess he was making. He ignored it.

"Mississippi."

"What kinda sicko we dealing with this time?" Bobby asked. He leaned forward as Charlie passed out all of their folders.

"A very weird one," she started as she pulled up images on the big screen.

Ellen made a noise of surprise. "Well that's a broad spectrum."

"We thinking group?" Pamela asked as she flipped through the pictures. "Are we sure this one isn't a suicide at least?" She pulled out the image of the man who'd jumped off of his condo.

"That one's still undetermined."

"Is there anything connecting these guys?" Ellen asked.

"There's a brand," Castiel said indicating with a wave of his hand that Charlie should proceed to the next picture. Along the hairline for each of the victims there was an image burned in, it almost looked like letters.

"What the hell does it say?" Dean asked squinting at the tiny images.

"We're hoping that we'll be able to discern the mark better once we see the bodies in person."

"Fair enough," Dean mumbled. He wiped off the crumbs from his fingertips on his pant leg and took a satisfying sip of water. At least it wasn't kids.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

The flight was an unsettling one and the weather that greeted them immediately shot down any remnants of a good mood. Despite the constant sprinkling of rain it was hot. There was no wind, only the occasional lighting bolt and rumble of thunder.

"I hate Mississippi already."

Bobby grunted a small agreement as he waved the stack of papers into his face. If nature wasn't going to help them out he would create his own breeze. It didn't help that the facility that they were storing the bodies in was a cheap excuse for a warehouse. Their walk in freezer was held shut with chains and a chair planted in front of it. They'd spent a good few hours fumbling with the locks and chains and then having to help the local lab techs close the thing back up.

The bodies were already starting to decay at a faster rate than they should have. Luckily they still managed to get clear images and imprints of the markings on the backs of the victims necks. And it really wasn't their fault. Funding for autopsies was hard to get. Only the big cities had proper facilities.

Maybe it was the heat and the humidity, or the dreary gloomy atmosphere, but the case crawled along slowly. Dean understood of course that not all cases could get magicked into being solved, he'd been an agent long enough to know that. Still, it felt like the entire case was digging its heels into the ground and refusing to budge. They'd spoken to Sean Boyden's surviving friends and family. The most they'd gotten out of it was that out of nowhere he was advancing in the world and success had followed him. Then he'd jumped off of a condo he designed, but judging by the stories they gathered; Boyden had been a happy, and content man. He'd had a shitty job at a bar and become an overnight success. The only sign they received that anything was wrong was the friends concern for Boyden's mental health the week leading up to his jump. He thought he was being followed and kept hearing 'dogs'. No one had been able to confirm it outside of him. The neighbors thought they'd maybe heard whispers but the condo Sean Boyden lived in was fairly isolated.

"None of this is helpful," Dean griped at he stretched out in the office chair.

Pamela nodded and shoved aside her damp hair, curls kept getting stock to her forehead or her neck. Despite the weak A/C at the station the weather was unforgiving. "This could just be a suicide and we could be barking up the wrong tree."

"Unless we can prove it I'm afraid it's what we have to work with," Castiel grumbled, taking off his jacket. "Agent Bradbury should be done rendering versions of the brand soon and perhaps we'll have more luck there."

"You know Cas, I don't think anythings gonna change if you just keep staring at it," Dean remarked. Since they'd come back from interviews Castiel had spent the entire time obsessively focused on the print. For whatever reason something about it felt familiar; which never bode well.

"As snarky as that sounds, he's right," Bobby said. "It's like with art people. You're supposed to step away from it or you stop seeing it or something."

Castiel sighed and ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up. "Perhaps you are right. We need to comb back through these lives and see where their paths overlapped."

Dean drummed his fingers on the table and stared listlessly at the white board. "Did the other families say anything about crazy hallucinations before swan dives? Feeling like they were being stalked?"

"Not really. These guys were successful but estranged from their families."

"Seems like a waste. If you got something good wouldn't you wanna share it with your family?" Dean tried to imagine not sharing everything with Sam, especially if he'd become successful like that. He couldn't understand how these people could end up so far apart.

"Beats me."

"You know, this might be stupid," Dean said as he pulled up a piece of paper they'd been brain storming on, "but since we got nothing else, maybe there's something about Boyden's behavior."

"If he was having a mental break down it would be rare for other victims to be sharing the same hallucinations," Castiel said but sat down to listen to his theory. Although outlandish in many ways, Dean's ideas had proven to cling to just enough truth to pan out.

"But what if it wasn't a break down, what if the guy was actually getting stalked?"

"By a rabid, big, black dog and some creep?" Pamela asked incredulously.

"No, but I mean back in OKC, a lot of the gangs owned dogs. Pits are popular. And if this guy is going around offing these successful guys and this isn't a coincidence, why would it be insane for him to have a dog?"

"So he just takes his dog on walks to murder people?" Bobby asked and huffed out an amused breath.

"It's perhaps not too insane," Castiel mumbled, feeling exhaustion creep into his bones. "At the very least it would give a reason to be out. And if he wandered around often enough he could become a regular feature of a neighborhood. It wouldn't raise any alarms."

"That's still pretty far fetched." Ellen unscrewed the bottle of water and drank down the last drops of it. She grabbed a manilla folder and began to wave it towards herself. "Seriously these guys need a fan."

"We've got nothing better to do. We're out of leads, we've talked to everyone we can. So we either head in early and pick up tomorrow. But you know if nothing else is left crazy usually ends up panning out."

"So what are we looking for?"

"Well, Sean Boyden reported it, maybe some of the other guys did too? Hit up animal control, ask for similar disturbance calls."

"Beats sittin' around sweating myself to death," Bobby grumbled and stood up. "I'll go get us some copies. I gotta stretch my legs anyway, starting to feel like I was going to be one with the chair."

A short phone call and a quick drive (they didn't have the time to fax them any of the information for whatever reason) they were sitting on a shockingly short list of people that matched what they were looking for.

"This is going to be wonderful. The FBI making house calls about loose pets," Bobby huffed.

"Split up I guess?" Ellen suggested. Despite each complaint being significantly geographically separated from each other they were all close enough for a drive. "We might even get all of the interviews done at a reasonable time and be out of here with enough time for some grub before bed."

"I believe you're right Agent Harvelle," Castiel agreed. He contemplated his jacket for a moment before leaving it draped around the chair. It would be too hot. "Dean, you're with me."

"Sure thing, boss," Dean replied with a cheeky grin.

"You think you're gonna take the training wheels off anytime soon?" Pamela teased as Dean trailed Cas faithfully out the door.

Dean flipped her the finger as Castiel spoke, "His interviewing skills could use some polishing."

"Hey!"

"Shall we, Agent Winchester?"

Dean almost snapped something back before he remembered that they were at work. He could joke around with his... he hoped to call him friend at least, Cas, but at work he'd have to behave himself a little better. And the middle finger thing had probably been a little too juvenile for the work place too. Resigned and telling himself he'd behave better he followed Castiel out of the station and to their car. It was a shame that he never played music in the car and sure as hell wasn't the most open conversationalist. It left Dean stewing in his own juices and obsessively reflecting on his behavior while the rain softly pelted the car. At least Cas was pretty to look at and didn't mind being stared at.

It didn't take them long to arrive at Silvia Pearlman's house. They didn't know much about her other than her status as a doctor. They'd been sent small personal files but so far there hadn't been a need to dig any deeper. She wasn't home. They spoke with her maid who confirmed with them that the report had been filed and that she had no idea when Dr. Pearlman would be back. She'd left rather abruptly.

"Do you have a number we could reach her at?" Castiel asked as he pulled out a small piece of paper and a pen from his pocket.

"Isn't she Chief of Surgery?" Dean asked looking around the kitchen they'd been left into.

"Youngest in the hospitals history," the maid responded, obviously proud. "She'd always been good but she got a lucky break about ten years ago. The Chief of Surgery passed away and several people were moved around. Her skill pushed her through the power vacuum. It was a well deserved lucky break."

"Huh," Dean hummed as Castiel wrote down the doctor's cell phone number. Just because she hadn't been able to reach the doctor didn't mean they shouldn't try. Dean was only vaguely paying attention as a photograph caught his eye. He picked it off of the pin board. Castiel's eyes bugged out a little as he tried to hiss a subtle '_Dean'._ Touching random things in a strangers home was definitely frowned upon. He chose to ignore it as he flipped the picture over, _November 2003 Lloyd's Bar. _He showed the photo to Castiel. "Ring a bell?"

Castiel bit of his reprimand for the time and took the photograph in his hand. "Do you mind if we keep this for now?"

"Uhm, why?"

"Our main concern isn't the dog that Doctor Pearlman reported. We need to speak to her in relation to an on going case on some deaths in town."

She paled. "Oh you don't mean those-"

"Yes, those. We promise to bring it back," Dean interrupted and gave her a charming smile.

The left successfully with the picture and Castiel couldn't even gripe at him with how well things had started to pan out. On their way back to the station to share their discoveries they received a phone call. Local PD two cities over had found Silvia Pearlman dead in her motel room.

The rest of the drive back to the station didn't feel as victorious.

Bobby and Ellen had been sent to Lloyd's while Pamela stayed to consult with Dean and Castiel.

"At least we're on the right trail," Pamela muttered as the fax machine whirred. Crime scene photos shot out one after another. She whistled softly. "This sure as hell ain't suicide."

Dean grabbed one of the photos and grimaced. "There are prettier ways to go."

A beeping interrupted and Castiel walked over to the laptop they had set up. It was Charlie.

"_Hey guys. How's Mississippi?"_

"Hot, humid, hellish," Dean replied, settling in front of the computer.

"_Sounds like fun. Now I don't really have much for you guys. I looked into the backgrounds of our victims and every one of 'em, a strange over night success." _

"Ten years ago," Pamela clarified.

"_Yup. But here's the thing, these guys had some talent yeah. But... some of this stuff doesn't sit right. At all." _

"Of course."

"_I'll keep looking into it but in the meantime I've got your image. Sending it to you now." _

The screen switched dark for a moment as the clear images of the brand was blown up on their screen.

"That's just a random assortment of letters," Dean complained staring at it. His irritation dipped into confusion as Castiel sighed heavily and dropped into his chair.

"That's not good," Pamela mumbled.

"No. It is very much not," Castiel replied and dug out his phone. He gave a brief head nod to indicate that they should vacate the room and he made a phone call.

It didn't take long for Zachariah to pick up.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

The letters were a bad joke, but then again the group in question tended to have a peculiar sense of humor.

"So, how about cluing us in on what the fun scribbles mean?" Dean bit out a little harsher than he intended to. Seeing Cas display any signs of nerves worried him.

"666."

"Excuse me?" Dean asked leaning against a desk. He shared a look with Pamela who shrugged her shoulders.

"NRWN QSR. Goes back to Nero Ceaser. Many scholars believe that in the transliterate from Latin to Hebrew the letters, representing numbers, equal to 666."

"And what does that have to do with anything?"

"Early Christian persecutors. But it isn't really him that's important, it's a calling card. A joke."

"It's not very funny," Pamela muttered as she stared at the screen.

"It could be a coincidence of course, but certain factions of Lucifer's Children are known to close out their black market deals like this. A different branch from Azazel's..."

"Wait what?" A bead of sweat ran down Dean's back.

"Even with Lucifer behind bars he still has a strong following. The structure of it heavily resembling syndicates as you know."

"Bull shit," Dean whispered, "three cases in and already having to deal with that-"

Castiel stood up and placed a gentling hand on his bicep. He squeezed gently and tried to get the other man's attention. "I'm honesty more surprised that we haven't heard more activity. It's been months since … the Oklahoma incident. A lot of big players came out of the woodwork-" he bit his lip fighting to share that Meg Masters had escaped as well "-it would be surprising if we didn't end up stumbling onto something related. That you have only been on the job so long is coincidence."

Dean sighed and tried to calm the nervous fluttering his stomach. "Right, whatever, so these... black market deals..."

"Whatever's profitable. I'm sure if someone took the time to re-exhume the body of the late Chief of Surgery, the one before Doctor Perlman, that there would be evidence of foul play. I'm sure they're also responsible for pawing the way for Sean Boyden, I wouldn't be surprised if the architectural plans were given to him."

"So what, pay my way and end up dead?"

"Not always. If I remember correctly, there's an exchange. Sometimes it's money, other times it's a debt to be repaid in return. But the debts last a life time. You could say that you would be handing over body and soul." Dean's hands felt clammy. "Perhaps they tried to back out on their repayment?"

The conversation dipped into contemplative silence as Dean stared at the crime scene photos splayed out before him. He clenched and unclenched his hands. He thought of Azazel and the promise he'd made to save Sam's life. These people had had ten years. He had barely a year left.

"So, what now?" Dean asked, quiet.

"The CIA may or may not take over the case. Since 'the incident' they're very serious about keeping tabs on any activity."

"We're just gonna leave?" Dean spat out.

"With recent concerns about national security, they would most likely receive jurisdiction. I doubt they will have an answer for us within the next few hours. I believe it's best if we joined Agent Singer and Agent Harvelle at Lloyd's."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

They'd managed to track down most of the names, or memorable people from Lloyd's. For being a bar the workers had a pretty impressive memory. They'd gotten two significant names. George Darrow, was the first. One of the bartenders recalled seeing him drinking with a young woman, a woman who'd spent the next week frequenting the bar. They never saw him again. They managed to pin point one other man, Evan Hudson.

Before they had a chance to search for them CIA did swoop in.

They were off the case.

Dean wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. On one hand, he could stop obsessing about the slowly ticking timer on his own deal. Azazel had assured him that even with his death the agreement stood. With how those people had ended up, he was a little concerned about trying to back out of it; a thought he only considered briefly. Sam would be a target if he chose to back down. On the other, if they could've hunted down whatever conniving little fuck had orchestrated these deals and get some answers. Get information. Figure out a way to fight back a little. At the very least if he was going down he was going to go down swinging.

They'd been delayed at the airport and it had been the late evening by the time they touched down in Virginia.

His only silver lining to his dark thoughts was the brief diner visit Cas indulged him in.

Dean's plans for the small outing had been brighter and filled with more cheer, but taking in Cas' haggard appearance and knowing he looked just as bad if not worse, he was content with the sound of silence interrupted only by the scrape of their forks.

He'd almost pulled Castiel into a strong, 'masculine', embrace. He'd backed down, instead settling for a brief touch of his hand on the other man's shoulder. Dean didn't understand what was bothering Castiel about the case so much. He'd seemed fine right up until he'd had a final conference with the CIA folks. His shoulders had drooped a little and his spine had been bent when he'd marched out of the office. There was something defeated in the other man's stance.

It made Dean uncomfortable and worried. He'd only relaxed a little as Castiel had smiled at him for the affectionate gesture and thanked him for the pie.

He figured Cas would tell him whenever it was fit to make it a part of Dean's business. Hell, he couldn't exactly be demanding. He had a few secrets of his own.

The apartment lights were still on by the time Dean made it back. He opened the door and groaned, rubbing his palm across his stiff neck. He kicked his shoes off before wandering further into living area only to find Sam sitting on the couch.

"I'm back?" Dean called out, confused. Sam looked up at him, anger and betrayal in his eyes. He'd seen that look a few times, most recently when he'd failed to mention to Sam that he was taking an interest in the BAU. "Hey, earth to sputnik. I've had a long case, shit sucked, I don't wanna do whatever the hell this is."

"Dean," Sam spoke, voice rough. He stood up and shoved an envelope at his brothers chest. "Explain."

"What the hell," Dean muttered as he looked at the envelope. Obviously Sam had already opened it and he let himself feel irritated only for a moment.

His body froze as he pulled out the photograph and the note.

It was of him when they'd landed in Mississippi.

"_You've been prowling around dangerous places Dean Winchester. Take warning from this and spend your last few months wisely. Azazel's deal with you still stands. Do not forget the consequences." _

"Fuck."

The confused, broken look Sam gave him damn near broke his heart.

**A/N: **Russian: Oh my god!/ A traditional exclamation of surprise/Hello Castiel.

Casual how are you/ it's been awhile!/ damn it (* the cultural equivalent) / I must be going

This one's a bit of a long one too. Trying to make up for my crap updating skills. Though Carinal!Verse is now fully and totally re-written and re-published.


	16. Grace

**Chapter 16: Grace **

Dean rubbed his hand over his nose and pinched it as he got to the end. Not a word had been spoken since his exclamation. For a moment he hoped that Sam would just let it go. Of course, out of all the people in the world, he knew better than that. Before his brother could say anything Dean held up his hand. "Can we not?"

"Dean- why is Azazel mentioned in that?"

"It's some stupid prank."

"You don't respond like that to stupid pranks, Dean." Sam stood up, angry, as Dean tried to avoid looking at him. All of a sudden their blank walls had become very, terribly, interesting.

Dean picked up the scrap of paper and crushed it in his hand. He ground it in his palm as he walked into the kitchen; intending to rip it apart and shove it down the garbage disposal. After the first rip Sam was shouldered in next to him. "Sam! Stop."

His brother pinched him at the elbow and Dean attempted to yank his arm out of the way. Sam pinched harder the momentary distraction caused by the pain gave him the chance to rip the paper back. He only succeeded in grabbing one half of it. They stared each other down on opposite sides of the kitchen.

"I could go ask someone at the office about this just to be sure," Sam threatened. "Don't lie to me, Dean."

"Sam," Dean pleaded. He felt the fight fall out of his shoulders and drip down to the floor. He wasn't exactly sure how illegal what he had done was. To be honest, he hadn't even taken it that seriously until the last case and the warning note. He'd been hoping, praying, that there wouldn't be a follow through. That they wouldn't be this organized. That the continuation of the deal wouldn't keep going after Azazel's death. He'd hoped that it had been a bluff so that Dean would let him go, keep him alive. Even then, making deals with criminals didn't seem to be at the top of any 'this-is-good-cop-behavior' lists.

"What-did-you-do?"

"Nothing," Dean argued. He turned his back to his brother to regain his composure. It was easier to lie to him when he didn't have to look. Sam knew most, if not all of his tell's.

"Dean."

He glanced over his shoulder at his brother's broken face and couldn't help his own face falling.

"What is this talking about? What deal?"

"It's nothing dramatic." Dean swallowed. He brushed a hand through the short strands of his hair. "I just, I owe 'em I guess."

"How!? How the hell- why would you even-? He killed Jess! How could you take favors from them!?"

"Don't get mad at me!" Dean yelled back, hands shaking. "Don't you get mad at me-" his voice quivered a little "-I had to."

"Had to? What? Did they hold a gun to your head?" Sam countered back. His stance was aggressive and strung tight as he marched forward. He was nearly in Dean's personal space before his brother spoke.

"Not me," came the whispered response.

"What?"

"They weren't holding a gun to me..." Dean looked up when Sam didn't respond. He nudged his shoulder to push Sam out of the way and shoved past him. He walked to the cabinet and bent down low. He pulled out a bottle of Jim Beam and twisted it open. He didn't bother mixing it with anything before taking a harsh swig from the opening of the bottle. "You."

"Excuse me?"

Dean turned around, breathing labored as he tried to control his composure. "You, Sammy. They had a gun on you."

"What are you talk-" Sam froze. He replayed his last memories of the incident back. He'd obsessed over them again and again. Re-playing things that could have gone differently. His sudden rescue and consequent trip to the hospital. Jake dropping to the ground. Something had always been off, there was no way he should've walked out of there in one piece. "What did you do? Why did you-" Horror crept into his tone.

"I had to, you were going to die!"

"So what? Now you owe them? What the hell do you even owe them? I looked into their shit, Dean. I saw how bad it gets. No one makes it out alive!"

Dean's throat felt like it was squeezing shut. It was something he'd considered. Especially with the case he'd just gotten home from. While there hadn't been too many details, he could make a few creative guesses. Their time had run out on what they received from the deals, or tried to weasel out of it; something, anything. He figured it wouldn't have been as simple as he'd imagined. Of course when he'd made the deal he'd seen some case files too. How bloody they could get. Hell, half of the members were certifiable serial killers.

"So?"

"So?" Sam whispered back. He steeled his shoulders and slammed a hand down on the counter. "I didn't want to be saved like that!"

"Are you deaf! I _had_ to!"

"Well who the hell asked you to do it like this!?"

"Who the hell asked you to run off on your own in the first place!?" Dean snapped his mouth shut and took a step back. They'd never talked about it, how Sam had gone behind his back and dove into a world that even experts had trouble navigating. "You should've trusted me, man. Talked to me."

"I know," Sam sighed. He leaned his hip against the counter and pressed both of his palms to his eyes. He wanted to scream, yell... punch a few holes in the walls, but he couldn't do much but let his hands flop uselessly back down. He'd known that a lot of the mess he'd gotten himself into had been on him. He'd let himself be put into a position where he'd managed to get himself kidnapped. But Dean had never faulted him for it, not out loud at least. Dean had never told him how much his rescue had cost either. Sam had always assumed that things had gone down smoother; he knew that Castiel was the one who'd taken the kill shot on Azazel. Knew that Meg was in custody. He should've known that their lives had been going much too smoothly lately.

Dean walked forward and slid the bottle towards Sam, this time taking out two glasses. "I couldn't let you die."

They sipped in silence for a moment. "How-" Sam's swallow was audible, "-how long do you have? Before, before they coming knocking."

For a moment Dean considered lying, but it would be easier to fold all of his cards out on the table. And as far as he remembered, telling Sam hadn't been forbidden. "A year."

"A year?" Sam stood up abruptly. "A damn year?" His voice came out barely as a breath.

Dean tried to put on a cocksure expression of amusement. "That's like 365 days and what's that dumb song- 525,600 minutes?"

"What?-" The reference blindsided him only for a minute, but then again he shouldn't have been surprised knowing how many shows and movies his brother watched in secret. He knew Dean was trying to make him laugh. It wasn't working. "From when?"

His brother's expression sobered a little, the grin slipping off of his face.

"From when, Dean?"

The answer came out as a little croak. "The day we found you."

Sam's felt himself grow cold. His hearing whited out for a little bit and his knees felt weak. It had taken them a few months from the time of the incident to get approved, move up here, and solidify the transfer. Dean had been working for a little under a month now, too. He tried to count how much time they had left. "No."

"It's not that bad," Dean said nudging his brother on the shoulder with a fist. "There's plenty of time."

"Not enough time," Sam whispered. He felt his vision grow misty and shook his head, hair flopping across his forehead. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt like falling to the ground. Sam straightened and gave his brother a forlorn look. He left the drink his brother had poured him on the counter as he moved through the kitchen. "I need to," he paused, "just-for-"

"It's fine," Dean said staring at the abandoned glass.

"Rufus, uhm. Rufus called, there's a voice mail too. The Impala's gonna be here tomorrow."

Sam didn't pause to look at his brother as he slunk into his own room, shutting the door behind him quietly. He leaned against it and listened to the quiet shuffled movements on the other side for a moment before retreating further into his room. Although his first instinct was to collapse down onto the bed he knelt next to it instead. Biting his cheek he leaned down and stretched out his long hand. What little dust had managed to gather underneath the cheap bed frame, that he'd found on the corner of a street, swirled up as his fingers danced across the floor. Once they made contact with a small cardboard box he sighed, curled his hand around it and yanked it forward. It made very little noise as he pulled it into his lap.

He didn't even have the energy in him to sob as he picked up the collection of pictures he'd stuffed in there. He ran his finger gently over the blonde hair in the photo, then down the woman's chin, before closing his eyes and gripping the photo tightly. He thought of the anger, the boiling in his veins. The wrath that had driven him forward and into some type of strange game, especially one that said he'd been meant to be there all along. He'd nearly forgotten the video, content to make it a part of a lucid nightmare. No one had ever gotten back to him on what he'd shared with the police. They'd told him if it was important they would tell him.

Sam's eyes threatened to overload with tears as he thought of his brother and what his vigilante detective work had cost them.

He thought of adding Dean's picture to the box.

He spent the night curled around it.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Cas woke up with a thin layer of sweat covering his body. As he shifted in his sheets, breathing hard, small droplets collected down the line of his back. Shuddering, he lifted himself up and counted to ten. He did this three-four times before he felt like he could open his eyes. Warily, he blinked around the room. Logically he knew there was no way anyone could be in there; he had some one of the best security system's money could buy (the one thing he allowed himself to splurge on). The knowledge didn't help the itching under his skin and tightness across his chest whenever he woke up from a nightmare. They'd been happening more frequently and he couldn't quite pinpoint why.

The sun hadn't come up yet but it was early enough in the morning that he could get out of bed. At least they had an off-day so it wouldn't matter what he did with his routine. He splashed water on his face and scrubbed a towel across it. He sighed at his reflection in the bathroom mirror before marching back into the bedroom, stripping as he went. Castiel let his spine stretch out as he bent down to brush the tips of his fingertips over his toes. He'd always made it a point to stretch and be flexible. Glancing at the clock again, he pulled on his running pants and a loose t-shirt. A granola bar and a glass of orange juice were his mini-breakfast before he went on his morning run.

With a water bottle tucked into a pack clipped around his waist, he took off.

Despite it still being in the summer months, the morning air was cool as he sped through it. He felt his mind calming at the rhythmic, steady thud of his feet on pavement. The knot in his chest had started to loosen and he felt some of the toxins drip away. A small cloud remained over him. One of the reasons he couldn't help but feel anxious. Their last case had left him with a dark shadow clinging to his back. First, he should've picked up the signs the second they hit town. He might not have been an expert but he knew enough. Second, the call he'd made to the CIA. Of course he'd expected some resistance but he hadn't expected the CIA order to be corroborated with by the head of the FBI. Usually they could at least fight for the right to remain on the case. The ease at which they'd been dismissed and told to turn tail bothered him. Zachariah's smug voice had carried with him all the way to the small diner that he and Dean had spent the evening in. He'd sounded almost satisfied. Happy. Castiel had learned long ago not to trust anyone who was pleased by any sort of carnage. He didn't believe in collateral damage (one of the reasons his time in the marines bothered him). They'd told him not to worry about it and that it would be taken care of. When Castiel had inquired for personal reasons, after all he was a part of the special force, Zachariah had had the nerve to 'tut' at him and tell him to have patience.

Castiel's feet hit the pavement harder as he zipped around a corner, sweat starting to slowly drip into his eyes from his bangs. He brushed his forearm across his face and let his run slow down a little. There was no reason for him to hurt himself simply because he was in a mood. Cas slowed to a heaving stop, lifting his arms up to stretch his sides. There was a soft ringing from the same satchel his water bottle was in. Frowning, confused, he dug out his phone as he squirted a bit of water into his mouth.

'Dean' flashed across the screen. His frown deepened; yes, he'd been on his run for about two hours and the sun was up but it was unusual for Dean to call him. Especially this early.

"Dean?" he huffed, out of breath into the phone.

"_Woah there. Did I catch you in the middle of something?" _Cas could hear the smirk in his voice.

He breathed out a short laugh, "I'm afraid not, Agent Winchester. I'm on my morning run." He took in a steadying breath. "What can I do for you?"

"_I'll have to catch you another time I guess-" _Cas smiled. It wasn't that he was unfamiliar with flirting; it was just that he'd never enjoyed it quite as much. _"- was just wondering what your plans were for you day off.. you know." _The confidence in Dean's voice slipped a little into something more shy.

"What are you doing awake so early?" Cas asked, instead.

There was a pause over the line. _"Didn't sleep so well." _There it was. Cas had been wondering what the strange tone that had slipped into Dean's voice was.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"_Yeah well, what can you do?"_ Dean sounded defensive. It was almost endearing.

"So far I was planning on finishing up some long over due chores at my apartment," he took another swig of water.

"_What? On your day off? No way, man." _

"We don't all live in chaos, Dean."

"_I don't live in chaos." _

"I've been inside your apartment."

"_Yeah well...that's not really the point. Just-I- look-," _the shyness crept back into his tone. Castiel could imagine Dean's ears tinting a little red as he rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, nervous. _"-I know it's not a work day, but I could go for some pie and-" _there was a pause in the conversation that Cas read into. Apparently whatever had kept him up all night warranted some company. _"-my baby's gonna be here today." _

"Baby?" He was pretty sure that Dean didn't have any other children than the Braeden child he'd played father to.

"_My car. Rufus is bringing it up today." _

"And that is pertinent, how?"

Castiel could practically hear the eye roll. _"I haven't driven it in months!" _Followed by a softer, _"I want you to see it." _

His answer took too long for Dean's nerves. _"Nevermind, I mean, you're busy and shit I just figured I'd ask-"_

"What time?"

"_Huh?"_

"What time will the car be arriving? I believe that would be an appropriate time for a lunch or dinner."

"_Oh-yeah. Sometime in the afternoon, you know traffic can never be predictable." _There was a new lightness in Dean's tone. _"But-ah. I'll text you or call you or whatever." _

"I'll be sure not to make any other plans."

There was an awkward moment of stillness as he waited for Dean to respond. He could practically feel the stress slowly seeping out of him. _"Right. Cool. Sorry for just springing this on you-"_

"Please, Dean. We may be colleagues but I like to think that we are also friends; especially with the volatile history we share. You may call me anytime you seem fit," Castiel took in a small breath, "I would like that."

There was a short inhale on the other line, followed by a 'of course we are' and a mumbled good bye. Cas chuckled a little to himself as he flipped his phone shut. He stroked a thumb over the small grooves in the phone and then over the display screen. He resisted the urge to tap it to his lips in thought. Shrugging, he took off into a slow jog back to his apartment. The sky seemed brighter around him.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Dean sagged against the fridge door and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He really hadn't been lying when he'd said he hadn't slept well. Most of his night had been spent awake, staring blankly out of the window of his bedroom. A few times he'd ventured out into the living room and kitchenette to see if he could catch his brother; no such luck. When he'd finally had enough of gazing down at the street lights he'd crawled into bed hoping to get some shut eye. He'd even started humming Metallica to himself. It hadn't eased him into sleep like he'd hoped. The majority of his night had been filled with restless tossing and turning. He'd adjusted and re-adjusted his pillow almost obsessively. Angrily kicked his blanket off and yanked it back up, trying to find a comfortable position. When he'd finally fallen asleep around 6am, he'd been awoken by the sound of a cabinet slamming in the kitchen. In his sleep he'd been with Azazel and the sound had reminded him of a gun shot. It had taken him a few moments to calm his breathing and by the time he waddled out of his bedroom Sam had already disappeared again.

He hadn't gone back to bed after that.

By the time the sun had spread its rays across the horizon he'd started to get itchy. The night before he'd called Rufus and settled on an average time that the Impala would finally be there. It was at least one good thing to look forward to while everything else was going to hell. Even the excitement of having his baby back didn't stop his leg from nervously bouncing up and down at the edge of the bed. He'd fucked up. Well, sort of. Dean could never regret his decision. Sam was alive and after having lost everyone else, that was good enough for him. He'd never truly stopped to think of how his brother would end up reacting to it. He knew it had been somewhat selfish of him. Dean wasn't completely self-unaware. He knew it was him that couldn't live without Sam. Even having had Lisa and Ben at the time, and a tentative interest in Castiel... it wouldn't have been enough. He was never one for shirking responsibility but Sam was his last line.

The anxiety had crept up his throat until he'd felt like vomiting it up. So, he'd made an impulse call. He'd called Cas. Even as the phone rang he called himself seven types of idiot. Although he was betting on Cas being a morning person that wasn't a guarantee. Calling someone, who was essentially your boss, at odd hours in the morning, on their day off, seemed inappropriate.

Now, leaning heavily against the fridge door he had a smile on his face. He'd had to touch a hand to his cheeks just to make sure it was there. The inky feeling was still sticking to his ribs but it felt like he could breathe again. It was nice knowing for sure that he wasn't alone. Admitted, he couldn't talk to Cas about any of the issues but it would still be nice to vent about other things. Show off his car. Eat some pie. His elation lasted only until his eyes drifted to his brother's door. There wasn't a light on under it but he hadn't really been expecting it. With a sigh he dropped himself on their raggedy couch and turned on their small TV; for the first time he was happy that Sam had insisted on getting it. If Sam ever forgave him they'd have to go shopping for more furniture soon.

He wasted the few hours, until Rufus called him, idly watching nothing. He vaguely remembered seeing the weather and some reality TV show. A small thrilling pulse vibrated through him as he got dressed. It wasn't his best or anything but it was at least something he looked damn good in. Dean knew at the very least that the jeans he was wearing gave his ass and legs a nice enough shape. While he stared at his reflection in the mirror he refused to admit he was picking out an outfit that he hoped Cas would find interesting.

"Sam?"

Dean walked out towards Sam's room and knocked on the door. There was no response. He hadn't even asked his brother for his work schedule. For all he knew Sam was already long gone. Just in case, he tried anyway, "I'm headed out. Rufus is gonna be here with the car in a little bit, and uh, after that I'm going out with Cas." He paused. He'd expected at least a little bit of teasing from that. If nothing else the way he talked about his boss made Sam quirk his eyebrows at him. Still, no response. "I'll see you later."

He took the stairs two steps a time until he landed on the ground floor. His eyes searched the parking lot frantically for his car. He heard her before he saw her. He felt a shiver run through his body as the rumble came closer and he finally saw her sleek body roll up into his eyesight. The Impala glided to a smooth stop in front of him and his face lit up. He felt like jumping. Rufus stepped out of the car with an amused look on his face. Dean bypassed him and went to stroke the hood of his car.

"Hey baby," he said in awe, "did ya miss me?"

"What? No 'hello'?"

Dean laughed and marched over to his old chief. They wrapped themselves in a brief embrace, a hearty pat on the back, before pulling back. "Thanks, Rufus. Seriously. I wouldn't have trusted anyone else to do it."

"Trust me, it's an honor. You're more protective of that car than your daddy ever was," Rufus chuckled, tossing Dean the keys.

"Oh baby, I have _missed _you," Dean said turning back to the car and cradling the keys gently. He paused lavishing love on his car to run back to Rufus. "Listen uh, do you want a beer or something? Or can I give you a ride somewhere?"

"To the airport would be nice," Rufus replied going to the other side of the car.

"Airport?"

"What? Did you think I was gonna walk back to Oklahoma?"

Dean chuckled and grinned a little as he slid into the driver's seat. "I guess not. Sure you don't have time for a beer?"

"I am still the head chief at the office Dean. Crime don't stop happening just because you're dropping off a car."

"Fair enough," Dean replied. He stroked his hands gently over the wheel. His thumbs caressed the grooves and bumps on the leather lining on it. He sighed in relief as he gripped the bottom of it, sliding his hands back up again.

"You want me to give you a minute?"

"Shut up."

The car rumbled to life and for a moment Dean was going to ask for that minute alone. He'd missed this. The Impala drove as smoothly as she had when he'd left her in Oklahoma City; one of the hardest decisions he'd ever had to make. He wasn't the type of man to put a lot of stock into material objects but this car was home, it was practically family. Until he was speeding down a highway to get to the airport he hadn't even realized how much he'd missed her. Missed driving. He left the windows rolled down and cranked the music up, ignoring the indulgent roll of eyes Rufus gave him.

The drive to the airport was shorter than Dean would've liked; although it probably hadn't helped that he'd been flirting with the speed limit the entire way.

"How's the office doing?" Dean asked as they pulled up to the drop off.

"The re-buildings going fine, hasn't gone back up in flames yet." Dark humor was the only way to deal with the situation.

Dean bit his lip,"Yeah. Good to know. No great office disasters?"

"No more than the usual. Things seem to be running along fine without you."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Dean shot back.

"How are things here?"

"Good, good. Just got back from the last case. I'm actually heading out to see Cas after this."

"Cas?"

"Agent Novak."

Rufus smirked and Dean didn't appreciate it one bit. "Getting friendly with the locals already."

"Shut it," Dean mumbled, a small blush reddening the back of his neck.

"Ain't my business, son. Not my department," he shrugged stepping out of the car. He paused briefly after closing the door to lean into the window. "Lisa and Ben are doing well."

Dean swallowed thickly, a knot forming in his belly. He'd been in touch with Ben over e-mails but for the most part hadn't taken the time to have a real conversation with Lisa. They hadn't parted on the best of terms and there was no reason to drag Ben into that. It had been civil enough but not something to warrant constant chatter. "Oh?"

"You should give them a call."

"Right, yeah. Will do, thanks Rufus."

Rufus tapped on the roof of the Impala and walked off with the small travel bag he'd taken with him. Dean sighed and slouched into the seat once the man was out of sight. He felt awful. Despite the few e-mails, ones without any real substance, he hadn't really spent anytime thinking of his old family. He and Lisa hadn't been together in years and he was only supposed to play surrogate until Lisa found a stable relationship. That didn't mean he regretted any of that time. If he was going to be honest with himself he'd thrive on being a parent. Sam hadn't needed him in years and it had been nice to be needed, to be looked up to like that again. Though maybe it had been for the best that he'd stepped out of their lives. Obviously something had gone wrong for Sam and him to get into the situation they were in now. He'd fucked up something in Sam's raising that had led him not to trust his older brother, to run off angry and bitter into danger. He shook his head and groaned into his hands. He wasn't meant to be alone; he had a tendency to get himself trapped in mental loops he knew he couldn't get out of.

Unconsciously his hand slipped into his pocket and before he knew it he had his phone out, thumb hovering over the 'call' button. Another reason for his distraction. Of course the job had taken up most of his time, he'd hit the ground running, but there was another reason he hadn't really been up to speed with Lisa.

"_Hello?"_

Dean hadn't realized he'd dialed. The rough voice snapped him out of his daze. "You ready to go?"

"_In a few minutes I should be."_

"Good, I just dropped Rufus off at the airport so you have a little bit. Hey, just realized I have no friggin' clue where you live-"

"_If you can make it to the office, I can direct you from there. I'm going to assume with your aversion to technology you do not have a GPS in the car."_

He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel, one hand draped over it, and smiled. "Nothing a good ol' fashion map can't solve."

"_At least you're not ornery enough to fight with them being installed in the FBI vehicles."_

"Not my car, not my problem." Dean's chest felt aglow at the slow rumble of laughter that spilled from the receiver.

"_Call me when you're ready for directions." _

"You got it, boss."

The dark shroud that had managed to cloud over him again faded away as he made his way to the office. He knew at least enough about the area to find his way there. The instructions to Cas' apartment were a little more difficult to follow. Dean told Cas he was awful at giving directions. Cas had told him he had no sense of direction. Most of the conversation had been directions but there had still been a playful banter bounced back and forth that had Dean feeling down right giddy. He whistled as he pulled up to Cas' apartment complex. It was impressive.

He found Cas waiting at the bottom next to a parking spot. Dean had to softly let out an involuntary whistle again. He'd never seen Cas dressed so casually. A button up rolled to his elbows, god how had he not noticed just how shapely those forearms were, and jeans slung low on his hips. As Cas raised his hand up to wave him over the shirt rode up to reveal a mildly tanned hip bone. Dean licked his lips. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all. His heart fluttered as Cas stepped off of the curb and approached him, eyes sliding along the car, the same way Dean admired attractive women (and in some cases men). Any man who could appreciate the finesse of his car was good in his books; it was just dangerous because he didn't think he should be allowed to find more things to like about his boss. While he was pretty sure he'd kept his flirting light, joking, there was nothing light or joking about what he imagined when he spent his nights alone in bed. When he imagined that body spread out underneath him, writhing and begging to be touched; that composed mask gone in place of blushed cheeks and whimpers.

Dean ground the heel of his palm into his dick and told himself to cool it. If he couldn't handle one little outing he might as well quit the job all together. He watched as Cas walked around the Impala, inspecting it before opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. He looked good framed against the light leather and black window rim. Dean was fucked.

"Hello, Dean."

"Hey Cas," Dean managed to grind out. He hoped it sounded casual enough.

"It's a beautiful car," Cas admitted looking around the interior. "Well kept."

Dean's chest puffed up with pride as he rubbed and appreciative hand across the dashboard. "I've re-built her myself. Every ding in the door every broken spark plug. Detailing. All me."

"You're very good with your hands."

"You have no idea," Dean shot back before he could control himself. The atmosphere had been so relaxed, so casual, he'd forgotten that tomorrow morning he would have to go on a case with the guy. He couldn't just throw lines like that out there, this wasn't a date.

To his relief, Cas chuckled. His eyes held a glow of amusement in them as he snapped his seat belt into place. "The evidence does point to incredible skill." Before Dean could blunder his way into more awkward conversation Cas spoke again. "I believe you've shown me your car. If I remember correctly I was promised pie next?"

He felt himself relaxing into his seat. This he could do, besides, they were friends; Cas had said so himself. Dean smirked and reversed out of the parking spot he'd pulled into it. "Too true, and a Winchester man never breaks his promise."

Dean was lucky that he was such an excellent driver. He truly was.

Wanting to feel the wind on his face, especially after being confined for so long, he'd left the windows down. The only down side was the sun shone straight into the car, lighting up the side of Cas' face, as the wind swept his hair back and forth. The air tugged at his bangs and there was a serene expression on his face as he kept his eyes closed. There was very little conversation but Dean could live with that as he cranked up the radio. AC/DC blasted through the speakers and out of the corner of his eyes he could see Cas smirking a little. Dean gulped as the other man sank further into the seat, letting the morning summer heat wash over him.

Castiel looked way too good in his car.

To his luck, and Dean rarely had any, he'd had the foresight to actual search up a good place that served pie. He wasn't sure if he could've handled driving around for much longer with Cas splayed out in his car. He'd never seen the man so relaxed. It gave him inappropriate fodder for his fantasies. While Dean was more comfortable topping, he liked the thrill (especially of taking apart stoic types like Cas), he had to fight from pushing Cas' seat back and nestling himself onto that lap.

"Wake up Sleeping Beauty, we're here," Dean said with a smirk as he parked.

Cas opened one lazy eye and sat up. He popped off his seat belt and got out of the car, stretching. Dean did his best not to look. "I've never been here before."

"I'm not surprised," Dean remarked as he got out and locked the Impala. Cas gave him a look. "I mean you don't look like you get out of the office much. Explore the area."

For a moment he was worried he'd over-stepped his boundaries but Cas only gave the diner in front of them a contemplative look before turning to Dean. "No, I really don't. I suppose I've never had the interest to."

"And you do now?"

Cas gave him a searching stare that made his heart skid to a small stop before starting again. "I do now."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

The Impala felt safe. Seeing Dean's face, hearing his voice, had eased many of his worries, but when Castiel had slid into the car and they'd taken off; he'd felt safe. Dean was an exceptional driver. The only time that he'd experienced Dean's driving before had been on the chase after Meg Masters so many months ago. Castiel was to a certain level a bit of a control freak; it had been years (if ever) since he's felt comfortable closing his eyes as a passenger in someone elses vehicle. It helped that the car had a distinct smell of 'Dean' to it. It wasn't something he'd ever outright noticed. Even during his brief visit to the other man's apartment he'd been busy focusing on making sure he didn't drown in booze. The second visit had been too brief for him to take in much more than the other man; then Lisa had shown up. Despite them working together, they hadn't exactly spent a lot of time doing anything that would put them in such close proximity to each other.

But now, he could. Of course underneath it there was the smell of leather and oil; the smells you would expect to smell in a car. Layered on top it, however, was a scent purely unique to Dean. It was hard to describe with other than musky. Maybe something like sand heated by the sun; even that wasn't right. He'd been lulled into a nearly sleeping state by it. Coupled with his bad sleep from the nightmare and the comfort, he'd been momentarily concerned that he would truly fall asleep in the man's car. He wasn't sure if he could ever live that down.

Reluctantly he'd followed Dean out of the car. If he'd been able to voice an opinion he would've gladly stayed nestled in the warm leather seat the rest of the day. He'd still trailed after him, surprised at where they were, and sincerely realizing that he meant his answer to Dean's question. Never before had he cared much beyond work. He'd long lost any wants or desires past doing his job and making sure that he could save as many lives as possible. War robbed a man of certain things, tragedy stole certain qualities away. Castiel had never event felt the need to wander far past his apartment. He had a washing machine and a dryer, he always brought his car to get fixed by the company mechanic; the grocery store as about as far as he'd ever ventured. There hadn't been a practical reason to.

Dean made him want to explore. Well, as long as the man in question was with him.

He watched him march into the diner, holding the door open with one hand as an after thought, and find them a table. Castiel tried to keep a small smile from creeping onto his face as Dean dropped himself into a booth and let his legs splay out. The jeans pulled around his thigh muscles tightly and Cas averted his eyes, sliding in opposite him. His thighs weren't the only thing the jeans accented. He stayed silent as Dean took the lead, trusting him not to mislead them. He'd never been one for pastries or sweets but Dean had an excellent pallet.

After their orders had been put in Dean gave him a shy smile across the table, leaning on his forearms as he placed them down. Dean's eyes were one of his favorite features. He enjoyed the way the green brightened when he laughed. Castiel gave a tentative smile back. Silence passed between them and he noticed the longer it crept on the more his companion seemed to want to fidget in his seat.

"Is something wrong, Dean?"

"What?" Dean's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "No."

"You're not required to entrust your worries to me, but I noticed this morning there was something off." Blunt and to the point. He'd spent some time while waiting for Dean wondering what had spurred on the random outing. Not that he didn't appreciate it. He would've never initiated a casual outing on his own, but it was very out of the blue. He knew that Dean was a spontaneous person but even this had seemed a little left field.

Dean frowned. "What? I mean I know I don't usually make morning ca-"

Castiel shook his head softly, he noticed Dean' eyes linger on his hair for a moment. He brushed his bangs back off of his forehead, self conscious. He leaned over to the table, matching Dean's position, their fingers almost brushing. He could feel the heat radiating from them. "You sounded... stressed. I hope the job isn't straining you too much."

"Come on, Cas. We've been over this."

"That was a few cases ago," Catiel reminded him with a tilt of his head.

Dean huffed and rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He watched as Dean lifted one of his arms, leaning back in the booth, and stretching it behind his head. He looked up at the ceiling, as if praying for guidance and sighed. "The job is fine, just, personal shit." The pie arrived and Dean separated their plates for them. "Family, issues."

Castiel nodded although he couldn't really relate. He hadn't had family in years and what he knew of...well. "My apologies. Is Sam okay?"

Before Dean could stop, he scoffed and shook his head. He bit into the pie and let his lips slide along the fork. Castiel watched, fascinated, as Dean's tongue darted out to lick the filling from the edge.

"Just, some stupid shit. It's my own damn fault. I have a tendency of fucking things up."

"I'm not sure I would agree with that."

"Oh and what would you know?"

"Would you really like to me to tell you? From what I have learned of you, Dean Winchester, is that you do not take to praise well."

Dean blushed a little and stuffed another piece of pie into his mouth.

"I wouldn't have given the recommendation for you to transfer if I did not believe in you."

"As an agent."

"As a human being."

Castiel held his eyes, willing the faith he had in the man to push through, until Dean looked down and slid his eyes to the window.

"You're a crap judge of character," Dean mumbled petulant.

"You judge yourself too harshly." Castiel smiled. Despite his posture at the very least it seemed that Dean's focus had drifted from whatever family problems he was having to the compliment. He'd have to remember this tactic for the next time Dean sought him out. He'd never been particularly good at comfort. Most people would find him too frigid, blunt, or off the mark. When he gave critique or compliments he was always sincere but many had told him that he didn't quite know how to deliver it. They told him he lacked expression.

It warmed him to think that Dean didn't think so.

He took in a deep breath and braved inching his hand forward to lay it gently on top of Dean's outstretched arm. "I have faith in you. Whatever it is, this will pass."

Dean didn't move his arm away until several moments later to take another bite of his pie. When Dean dropped him back off at the apartment he heard a muttered thank you.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Sam had been avoiding him since their argument. Dean knew for a fact that he'd at least been home because there was a pot in the sink that hadn't been there before and tupawared leftovers in the fridge. While a part of him had been hoping that he wouldn't have to confront his brother, not after having a pretty good day, he was equally disappointed to come into an empty kitchen. He let out a bitter laugh, at himself, when he noticed a work schedule stuck to the fridge on a magnet that looked like Sam had nicked it from work. He had an early shift tomorrow which meant his brother was already passed out, or at least trying to be.

He should've come home earlier.

After dropping Cas off he'd spent some time, his head reeling, in the Impala. He told himself he was just watching to make sure the he made it safe back into the building and to his apartment. It was bull shit of course but if there was anything Dean was really good at; it was lying to himself. He told himself it was a malfunction in his heart, when Cas had turned around to wave at him and his heart had fluttered. When he'd started to feel like a creeper he'd taken off, driving aimlessly and getting himself blissfully lost. He'd also told himself that he was just enjoying driving the Impala again instead of avoiding his brother. Instead of being a coward.

And now he'd missed his chance. He rubbed a tired hand across his eyes and dug his fingers in a little. He stopped only when spots started to appear. He took his hand away and heated up some of the food that Sam had left him. Other than the pie he hadn't even remembered to eat anything. Of course he'd had a hearty breakfast but not much else. At the very least he could assume that Sam wasn't too pissed off at him if he'd remembered to section off a piece of lunch for him. This was fixable.

But it would have to wait, they had another work day ahead of them in the morning. He'd be gone and at the office before Sam had a chance to wake up.

Dean went to be to thoughts of windswept hair and eyes bluer than the sky.

**A/N: **Sorry for the late update, had some person stuff. I'm gonna try and go back to the Monday updating schedule but we'll see. I had two cases that were supposed to go into this chapter and then the destiel got out of control and I couldn't pull it back so the cases go into the next two chapters (which means next chapter for sure I'm introducing a new character that people seem to like.) STILL un-beta'd since my beta is busy with school. :]


	17. Sword and Shield

**Chapter 17: **Sword and Shield

Sam rubbed a wet cloth across a table slowly. He let it drag and smear more than it was actually helping clean anything. His large shoulders drooped forward and he could barely keep himself from collapsing into the booth. The anger had seeped out of him, at least for the moment, over his brother. He'd intended on getting into another row with him but when he'd gotten home Dean had been gone. The silence in the apartment had helped temper him down. The only down side was that once the wrath had burned away it left an empty vacuum that Sam all too easily filled with sadness. He hadn't dared look at Jess' picture again but now, more than ever, it was heavy on his mind.

What had Dean been thinking? Had he honestly thought that Sam could make it through everything by himself? More so, they were living in an entire different area right now. There wasn't anything that remotely even reminded him of Oklahoma or "home". He had no support network. It had been his brother's idea to move and Sam's mind baffled at why in the world Dean would move knowing he had a massive bill coming due. There was no way that Dean's debt for the price of a life would be something simple. Lucifer's ilk, especially the major factions, were damn efficient business men. They traded favors and lives like collector's cards and they always won out in the end. Sam was especially concerned since Dean's deal had been off the record. (A lot of Lucifer's Children were well established businessmen and lawyers. While equally as destructive they seemed safer; being in the public light.) What his brother had done had no public constraints. Yes; _they_ had a code but Sam wasn't about to bank on it being a list of any moral value.

He felt suffocated. There was nothing he could do, at least, not using any of the legal circuits. He still had pull, power, in shadier networks but he'd more or less promised Dean not to abuse that again. If he ever wanted to be able to practice law legally he needed to keep his nose clean. The more he scrubbed the same table the more he became convinced that there was very little he could do. It wasn't like he could go to anyone either. What his brother had done had been shady as hell and illegal. Sam also didn't want to accidentally incite the wrath of the group by overstepping unseen boundaries.

If only that was even the tip of the iceberg.

He really should've been more worried about the fact that they were being watched, that _they_ knew where they'd moved to and lived. They had access. Someone had been at their apartment door.

He should've been concerned for himself. Azazel may have been dead but the cryptic video remained. They could be there for him too.

"You okay?"

Sam's head snapped up and he turned around to, Lindsey, staring at him; eyes filled with concern as she cradled a coffee pot in her hand.

"Huh? Yeah. I'm fine."

"You've been scrubbing that same spot for ten minutes. There's not even any water left in the rag."

Sam looked down and frowned. He winced a little at having been caught in his thoughts. Despite the crisis that was going on he was getting paid for a job. They needed the money; he needed the money. He couldn't start slacking now. "Sorry, guess I just zoned out a bit."

"Rough night?" she asked, kindly.

"You could say that." Sam gave her a shaky smile.

"Well, if you need to take your break early you can. Re-group a little but that's up to you."

"No, I'm good. Thank you though."

Lindsey walked off, leaving him to his thoughts. He still couldn't find the energy in him to be chipper but at the very least he could pay attention to properly doing his job. The motions were at least mechanical enough for him let his minder wander into blankness.

He could figure out what to do about his brother when he wasn't at work. Besides, Dean was on a case anyway so he had free time to think.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"We're going hiking?"

Dean looked at the map for their next crime scene briefly before putting it down and re-adjusting his grip on the seat. There was a tenseness in his back and he clung to the armrest in a way he hoped wasn't noticeable. He'd taken the initiative to change where he sat. It was a little closer to the window but it was also closer to Cas. No one had mentioned anything and Cas had only raised an eyebrow at him; Dean had promptly ignored that. He spent most of the flights staring at Cas anyway; this way at least he could subtly enjoy his closeness and maybe spend more time looking at the paper work than his boss. Of course his eyes still trailed constantly after Cas. In a perfect world, he could've slid up closer to him and had physical touch ground him. Since no such thing existed; this would have to do.

And it was hard to do.

In his head Dean had started calling their little outing the day before a 'fake-date'. His brain had supplied helpful images of how he would've viewed it outside of the context it was set in. Which was really stupid. Dates had to be agreed to by both parties and made aware of it; otherwise it was just down right creepy. His brain had still decided to put a buff job on the memory and make it glow. It made his tummy feel like a swarm of butterflies were having a party and he couldn't help feeling the fluttering. When he'd gone to bed he'd let himself drift off to the play-by-play of the evening; to the touch of Cas' hand. His palms felt safe. (He craved it now, thousands of feet up in the air.) He'd then spent the entire morning trying to curse his dick down and attempting to calm himself. He had enough to worry about with his brother; he didn't need fantasies to stress him out any more. Of course, the second he'd seen Cas again at the office the flutters had come back with a vengeance and he'd resigned to letting himself slip a little. After all it was only in his head, no one else would know. Besides, the entire time he'd spent yelling at himself compromised his work. You couldn't exactly focus on murderers if you were panicking about having too friendly feelings over someone you were working with. It threw off the dynamic and he had a job to do. Personal shit had to be left at the door.

"I don't think this counts as hiking," Bobby said looking at his own map. "Maybe rock climbing."

"The terrains not that bad. Says that the elevation changes are pretty smooth compared to most of the Colorado wilderness areas."

"I'm afraid that won't make it any easier to navigate," Cas mumbled as he dolled out more of the case sheets.

"We're still going in though, right?" Dean asked, eyes following Cas as he settled further into his seat, arms held loosely over his knees. He wished the sleeves would be rolled up.

"We may very well have to."

"That sounds like a job for the park rangers. We've had forest hunts before but it's not exactly something we're equipped for." Ellen shuffled through the images of what had been found of the victims. "There's very little to go on here. We sure these aren't bears?"

Castiel shook his head pulled out a missing persons list. "The only bear native to the area is the American Black Bear. They're generally not very violent. There's some bobcats in the area but they tend to stick to their own game."

"They can scavenge though," Dean pointed out as he cringed. The pictures held nearly indistinguishable shapes on cold metal trays.

"It still wouldn't explain this."

"Are these the only ones? Three-" Bobby glanced through the file again. They had for sure identified three different sets of remnants but there were a few pieces that they couldn't identify, "- and maybe four-ish isn't much to go on. The dates they tossed out stretch years."

"Yes, that is true. Most of the sheriffs and rangers are convinced this is an animal attack but the pattern holds. Every few years two people go missing from the trail or the surrounding area. Of course there's the usual missing persons, it can't be helped, but there is a pattern that sticks out too much to be organic. A different location every time as far as they can tell, so that makes it more difficult. Not that they have much to judge that on, the Lost Creek policy is very strict on how human visitors may interact with the environment."

"That doesn't seem like enough to warrant us though, does it?" Dean asked.

Castiel pulled out close ups of some of the flesh lumps they'd retrieved. "There's at least two Pathologists that swear up and down that some of these marks did not come from any animal teeth or natures doing."

The rest of them paled a little. "Wonderful, a forest cannibal." Dean rubbed his palm against his forehead. "Well fuck me. I figured that didn't actually really happen like that, at least not anymore. Good only for psycho thrillers and scaring little kids."

"You would be more or less correct. Of course we have our Albert Fish's and our Dahmer's but most cases of documented cannibalism in our time happen under stress of disaster; famine's, accidents were the people are stranded. We have our odd cases where after a murder a piece is eaten, or a biting fixation is what initiated the event. It is rare to see it serial like this."

"There are cases around the world o' course, but they'd be outliers for trying to figure out a correlation in our own backyard," Bobby added with a nod to Cas. "So it's a pretty good reason to come down. Three people is a lot too and especially with hints of them being spread out like this..."

"Where'd they find the remains anyway?" Ellen let a brief shudder pass through her. She hadn't enjoyed studying past cases at the academy,that were murder cannibalistic, and she wasn't enjoying the idea of having to deal with one now. "I figure if I was hunting for snacks in the woods I wouldn't leave this all out in the open."

"The small parts that they're unable to identify washed up on the edge of a river. It's probably why it's in such bad shape. Campers found it and called it in. A few rangers hiked a little further down and saw the rest scattered. While most of them are not on board with the cannibalism theory, they are open to the suggestion that whoever murdered these people had his dump site ransacked by animals." Castiel pointed to some of the highlighted areas on one of the images. There were sharp teeth marks from smaller animals.

"How are the locals feeling about this?" Dean asked, fingers tightening around the seat again as the jet bounced in an air pocket.

"It will be a mixed reception. I believe we're meeting with Ranger Wilkinson first, he's heading one of the access points into Lost Creek."

"Okay cool, now one more question," Cas gave Dean a patient look, "this is all good reason to come down but these remains were found a few years ago. I mean it kinda looks like we could have a reason to be pulled in awhile ago, but the area's open all year round. We don't seem to have a stable outline."

Cas slid a page with the images of three different young men to the center of the table. "Some of the rangers, and the Collins family, believe these people to have gone missing."

"Works for me."

The conversation lulled into silence as they respectively went back over the information that had been handed out. Dean himself had read enough of the file. Obsessively going over little black letters on a bright white page made his eyes hurt. He was better in action anyway. They had a little over half an hour before they would hit Colorado airspace anyway so if the itch hit him, he would have time to re-read. Dean wasn't looking forward to it; the prospect of the case was already grossing him out a little bit.

He focused his gaze on Cas. Much more pleasant than pictures of mutilated bodies. His brows were furrowed and his lips were pinched a little in a contemplative frown. Warmth thrummed through Dean's veins as he watched him flip through the pages like he could stare the answer to the case out of them. It was endearing. As the plane lurched he closed his eyes briefly but tightly. There was no reason to call attention to his issue with flying, even if they already knew about it and at least hadn't teased him mercilessly like Sammy had when he'd found out.

The jet didn't even have to do any strange bounces in the air for his stomach to drop.

He'd briefly considered, in his morning panic, knocking on Sam's door but he'd overslept. Not one of his best traits but he liked his bed and his soft sheets. One of the few luxuries he'd let himself have in his adult life. Regardless, it hadn't really been an issue and he hadn't even really cared before. Seeing Sammy in the morning had never been much of a priority.

He felt guilty. Not for the argument or how the conversation had ended. He still wasn't going to back down and was going to make sure as hell that Sam stayed out of it. No; that wasn't what he felt guilty over. He felt guilty over the pain that had crossed his brother's face and for acting like a coward. For leaving Sam alone like that.

He just prayed that by the time the case was over that he'd have figured out something to say and that Sam would've cooled down a little. He let out a soundless sigh and gripped his knee tightly. He pushed a little more into it to distract himself with the pressure.

His eyes found Cas again. It was really turning into a problem. Instead of averting his eyes like he knew he should have, he dared a brief glance around the cabin to make sure the rest of the team was distracted. Seeing Pam, Ellen, and Bobby buried in their files he gently touched his boot to Cas' foot. He made the touch brief, accidental. Something he could blame on turbulence or stretching too far. Dean let some of his anxiety fade as he relished in the small bit of contact. He pulled away when Cas looked up, turning to his own set of papers, embarrassed.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

They landed at Yampa Valley Regional Airport without much fanfare. (The wilderness reserve was about half an hour drive away, which wasn't that far, but the local office didn't have many officers to spare. The case was shifty enough not to be on anyone's priority list.) Castiel watched, only slightly amused, as Dean's whole body language changed. The tenseness in his shoulders eased away and his energy bounded back. When they'd touched down on the strip, wheels bouncing, Cas had almost reached over to grab his hand. He let go of the idea as soon as it had entered his head. It would be very unprofessional. He'd been surprised when Dean had changed seats to a more singular one next to his. He was usually very happy sprawled on one of the booth seats, hiding from the edges of the plane.

The seats even shook a little worse on his side.

Cas speculated that it had something to do with their outing. Perhaps some sign of gratitude for being an ear to listen to.

It had been endearing watching Dean try and brave his way through the small change. Though it really wasn't worth the panic. He would have to speak to Dean and inform him that he didn't have to make such grand gestures for him. A simple 'thank you' would've sufficed. As they gathered their go-bags and started walking towards the van, Bobby pulled up his elbow. He felt a gentle touch on his arm and turned a little, quirking his eyebrow.

"Is there something wrong?"

Bobby shook his head as he subtly slowed his walk. Castiel followed suite while keeping an eye on the other team mates. They were a good few feet ahead of them, and from the looks of it, bickering over something in a friendly matter. Cas' gut felt a strange twitch as he watched Dean wink at Pamela who responded in kind. He fought the frown that attempted to creep its way onto his expression.

"No, not really. Not yet at least," Bobby responded, staring at Dean with curiosity and looking back to Cas.

"You know I have very little patience for crypitcs," Cas sighed. He rolled his shoulders and yelled at the little voice in his head to stop talking. While it had stopped clarifying for him that what he'd felt was jealousy, it had decided to start substituting that with the times they'd been alone and 'not to fret' because Dean flirted with him too. Equal opportunity flirt-er.

"Coming from the man with sealed records and a penchant for secrets." Cas gave Bobby a look. "It's not my business really. Dean seems like a good kid. Last I heard from John Winchester back in the day he was. Spent a lot of time talking about his kids. "

"I didn't know this." It seemed like Bobby knew him more than just from paperwork.

"It wasn't that big of a deal. Most people knew John Winchester."

"You sound like you did more than just know about him."

Bobby huffed, feeling like he was being sidetracked. "Rufus did too, and that's where I'm leaving it at. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about." Castiel made a go-on motion with his hand. "You and Dean."

Castiel felt himself go rigid. He prided himself on professionalism and thought that he'd kept himself very well in check. He'd admitted to himself to finding the other man painfully attractive and charming. The next step had been admitting to himself that he craved Dean's warmth like a cat bathing in the sun. He'd been stunning and charming even the first time that Cas had laid eyes on him, and Dean had been bruised and cut up with drips and tubes attached to him. Still, he was sure that he'd kept it well under wraps. Perhaps Bobby was speaking of something else.

"What of Dean and I?"

Bobby gave him a long look before shaking his head. He looked back up to where the others had already stopped by the car. "The kid seems fond of you. Maybe it's hero worship for saving his life and all but-"

The conversation cut off abruptly as they made it to the van. In the wake of Bobby's few words Cas found himself more so attuned to Dean. It wasn't much, but perhaps Bobby had been right. When Dean turned his face away from Pamela, his eyes warmed a fraction, and the wink that Dean sent his way felt different than the one he'd witnessed. Castiel felt knots forming in his stomach as he looked away again and crowded into the back of the car. The warmth was probably just from the friendship they shared. One that Castiel was relatively sure Dean didn't share with any of the other members of the team. It eased his jealousy. Still, if someone decided to give Dean trouble for the extra affection, they could. Although the world was becoming a better place, Castiel felt relatively confident that while his flirting with his female colleagues would be over looked as charming if he continued to mix flirting and affection towards Cas it would become an issue. At the very least, he felt that his bosses would be harsher for it. It would probably lead to an office wide sexual harassment seminar.

Castiel would just have to be more vigilant from now on. He only hoped Dean would understand the need for separation. People, especially in law enforcement, could be vicious and their superiors weren't of the most tolerant regime that the FBI had witnessed.

He climbed into the driver's seat, "Agent Harvelle, could you inform them that we're on our way?"

"Already on it," Ellen said as she cradled her phone to her ear.

The location they went to was one of the ranger stations. Since Lost Creek was a wilderness reserve they didn't exactly have their own police force past the rangers. The police stations from both Jefferson and Park counties had still agreed to lend them some officers and help set up a central location of operations. It was small but workable.

"You're the FBI guys?"

Castiel stepped forward and extended his hand, "Ranger Wilkinson I presume."

"Yes, sir." The man stepped back to allow them all room to file in. He led them past a few tables, that had been set up for their needs, into a medium sized office with case information pinned to a board. "I really don't think there's anything to be worried about. Their permit gives 'em a few more days before we'd start looking."

"It can't hurt to be cautious," Ellen remarked as she looked at the map they'd pinned up. The local rangers had tacked on information and outlined the major trails and side trails. They'd also circled popular camps. While it wasn't an enforced rule they tended to prefer it if the guests who camped along the trail used preexisting clearings.

Ranger Wilkinson only grunted in response. It was clear that he would remain skeptical until they found concrete proof of a crime. It wasn't necessarily that he was being obstinate but his type never really helped during investigations. Claiming to remain 'grounded' in realism didn't always help catch the bad guy. Especially if he found a speaking platform there was always the risk of even supporters of a theory losing steam and losing focus themselves.

"The newest disappearances; is there someone nearby that we can talk to? Family members?"

"Here's the address," Ranger Wilkinson said holding out a square piece of paper. He'd already been writing it out wanting them out of what little hair he had left as soon as possible. "Haley Collins. She came up here throwing a fit. Her causin' a fuss is why we've really opened the investigation in the first place. Maybe you can talk more sense into her than I can."

"I'm sure we'll do our best," Pamela muttered out of ear shot.

"Agent Barnes, Agent Winchester, you're with me," Castiel spoke as they walked out of the office. "We'll be going to interview the families."

"What? Not going solo you two?" Pamela teased. Dean fidgeted a little. No one paid it any particular mind.

"It would be beneficial for Agent Winchester to see other methods for interviewing than just mine." He wasn't going to rise to the bait. Though, if Bobby hadn't said anything he wouldn't have even read in to it. The type of tease was something that Pamela had always employed, even before the Oklahoma explosion. Castiel cursed Bobby for his veiled messages. It made him uncomfortable and paranoid.

"Makes sense," Bobby said stepping in. "Ellen and I are gonna get together with the rangers and the guides they've brought in for questioning. We're gonna see if we can get ourselves a narrow enough area to wade through. We don't have the man power or substantial evidence to comb the entire damn reserve."

"We'll return as soon as we can."

Castiel led Pamela and Dean back to the van and they headed back towards the city. Tommy Collins, one of the 'missing' boys, had two siblings. Haley Collins and a younger brother, Ben Collins. The other two 'victims' families were located too far away for a quick drive. They would have to ask for them to come in or call them, but the Collins family was priority. The Collins' were the only people suspecting foul play. Haley had at least raised an alarm and had been interviewed briefly for more information. It was clear from Ranger Wilkinson behavior that they hadn't taken her concerns seriously. They'd been told by the law enforcement they'd been lent, that there had been no follow up questions with the new light of foul play and a possible serial killer.

They missing man's family was ready to have dinner when they arrived. She asked them in regardless.

"Miss Collins-" Pamela began.

"Haley's fine."

Pamela smiled at her and walked a little further into the room. The younger brother gave them a sullen look before going back to his laptop. "Now, I'm sure you are aware that your brother's back country permit doesn't expire for a few days. Yet, you went to the rangers station convinced something was wrong?"

Haley sighed a little. From the stiffness in her shoulders they could tell she'd had to go over this before and wasn't expecting them to believe her anymore than the rangers had. "He checks in every night. Stupid videos and pictures. Let's us know he's safe. We haven't heard from him in three days."

Dean looked around the little house for a moment. Most of the pictures were of the three siblings. "Maybe he's lost reception?"

"No." Haley arranged two plates onto the table. "He's got a satellite phone, and before you ask he's got a solar powered charger even if he were to run out of battery."

"Perhaps he's gotten wrapped up, forgotten?" Castiel suggested carefully.

"He wouldn't do that," Ben snapped. His expression stayed dark as he turned his head.

Haley gave them a small apologetic smile. "It's just us. Our parents are gone."

"It's okay," Dean stepped forward glancing at Cas and Pamela; he was surprised when they let him take the lead. "No one knows him better than you two. I bet you guys are pretty close." Ben shrugged a little but seemed to ease up. If there was something that Dean could relate to it was not having anyone left. "Would you guys have anything we could take a look at? Maybe his last broadcast?"

Haley nodded and grabbed her laptop, she set it on the edge of the table and pulled up a list. They glanced through a few pictures that she showed them followed by a video.

"If I give you an e-mail could you forward this to us? It would be much easier for you than us having to confiscate the laptop," Pamela said as she idly flipped through a few more pictures.

"Sure, no problem. Anything to help. Glad someone's at least taking this a little seriously."

"No worries, we're getting everything set up and we're going to start canvasing tomorrow," Dean said as they started walking back towards the foyer.

"Then I might see you there."

They froze. "Excuse me?" Castiel asked, perplexed.

"I hired a guide. Rangers won't take me seriously, so I got someone. The trails still open as far as I know."

"That's probably not such a good idea," Pamela said, frowning. She'd figured that at least with their presence there would be some restriction on entering the forest. It was technically a crime scene. Then again, it was the 'technically' that kept them from keeping the usual rights to the scene.

"I'm not sitting around here waiting. He's our brother," Haley responded, squaring her shoulders. "I'm glad you guys are here but I can't trust that. I'm not leaving him out there if something's happened."

Cas and Pamela got ready to protest. "I can understand that," Dean mumbled with a kind look towards her. Her anger seemed to deflate a little and she gave a small smile back. Dean let his hand drop warmly onto her shoulder. "We'll show ourselves out." He ushered Pam and Cas ahead of him.

Neither spoke until the screen door and the front door had slammed shut.

"So this is going to get complicated," Pamela muttered as she pulled the car door open and slid into the back seat.

Before Dean could slide into the front Castiel grabbed a hold of his arm. "What did you think you were doing?" he asked, voice stern. He'd watched the proceedings with interest, a little impressed in how Dean had calmed them. But practically condoning them to stop around a crime scene? That wasn't proper.

"Comforting her?" Dean said pulling his arm out of Cas' grip. He gave a small smirk."It's okay Cas, no need to be jealous." Castiel felt his neck heat up and snapped down on the small part of him that was making a bigger fuss. He hadn't been jealous of the warmness Dean had shared. No; he was concerned about Miss Colllins walking around with her younger brother. They'd contaminate the crime scene.

"Agent Winchester," Castiel stepped back and yanked every emotion out of his eyes. "Why did you placate them wanting to go off on their own?"

Dean frowned and glanced down at Pam. The window was rolled up and they weren't speaking very loudly, but it didn't ease his feeling of being watched. "I don't think I did."

"Telling that you understood?"

"It's called empathy," Dean huffed, scooting a little around Cas so that he could get to the door. "I didn't tell her she could go. Besides, don't we have legal say so in that? When she shows up tomorrow morning we can ask the Ranger not to permit anyone to enter. It's no yellow tape but I'm sure we can get it done."

Castiel reeled himself in a little. He supposed Dean was right.

It took him until they had all gone their separate ways in the evening to realize exactly how empathetical Dean's response had been. He felt cruel for forgetting that Dean and Sam had lost both of their parents. Besides, empathy made them better profilers. Better agents.

He'd expected to be the one doing the teaching, but perhaps he had much to learn from Dean as well.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

During the evening they'd received a little more information on the case. Charlie had tracked down accident reports and survivors of attacks at the reserve. Most of them were basic accidents, only a few animal attacks. Bobby and Ellen had had checked it out the night before. A man named Shaw had been in a lodge with his parents some twenty years ago when they'd been attacked. He'd been young and tired but he could've sworn a man wrapped in skins, bear skin, had crept into their lodge and slaughtered his parents. It had been relatively quick so he hadn't had time to react. He'd been ten and left to bleed on the floor as he' tried to get out of the cabin in a hurry. The scars on his chest, meant to cut through his jugular, had been decided on to be done by bear claws. Shaw's fears had been dismissed as an elaborate hoax caused by trauma.

"Well, I mean they are warm," Dean offered as they gathered for breakfast at the outpost.

"_Huh?_" Charlie asked through the speaker.

"Well, if this nut job stays in the woods all the time he's gotta keep warm somehow right? Bear skins?"

"I think we would've noticed if someone had been poaching the black bears," Ranger Wilkinson defended. His stance was upset and his hands were crossed sternly across his chest.

"_It's only illegal to hunt Black Bears in Mexico,_" Charlie added. There was a small crackle in the audio. "_There's restrictions in the states but it's not illegal." _

Castiel fought to sigh and roll his eyes. The information was helpful and necessary but there could've been a better time to deliver it than with one of their biggest opponents in the room.

"You need a permit to carry a gun in," Wilkinson barked.

"Anyway," Bobby spoke, "it's a good theory. I don't exactly see this guy making trips down the trails to go grocery shopping. Could've gotten himself used to the the terrain and how to survive. Especially if it's the same thing that happened to Shaw; twenty years is a long time. He's gotta know every nook and cranny of this damn reserve."

"What attacked and killed his family was a bear," Wilkinson argued.

"Bears don't unlock doors." Dean stood a little closer to the ranger. He had a little bit of height on the man and couldn't help his alpha male feeling elated when Wilkinson backed down.

"As it stands, we're going to go through some of the trails. I trust you've closed off the-"

"What do you mean we can't go in!?"

The group turned from the table. There was an officer already stepping outside to help one of his colleagues. The woman's voice echoed again, asking the same question.

"Miss Collins I presume," Castiel muttered with a glance at Dean. It was his mess, he should clean it up.

Dean frowned at him, visibly put off by the small look that Cas had given him. Castiel recoiled a little but kept his composure. He hadn't meant anything by the comment but hadn't exactly mentioned that he'd realized why Dean had reacted the way he did. Although Dean's sullen disposition bothered Cas, he was determined to keep himself at a distance. Still, he relented and indicated with a head nod and movement towards the door that they should adjourn for the moment and deal with it. He tried not to let his chest flutter too lightly as Dean smiled at him. Dealing with hysteric civilians was never fun to begin with, having to deal with them directly with the incident the night before would be more difficult.

Castiel also tried to ignore the soft touch to the edge of his elbow as Dean passed him, squaring his shoulders and marching forward to take care of the situation. Cas trailed behind silently.

"Agent!"

Dean stepped forward and politely waved off the two officers that were standing outside. They looked at Castiel and he nodded his head in dismissal. The younger boy was there too and an older man that he assumed was their guide.

"Miss Collins." Dean smiled at her.

"Haley," she reminded him with a relieved expression. Castiel fidgeted a little in his shoes.

"Haley," Dean responded. There was that soft, comforting charm to his voice. More than likely this conversation wouldn't last long and hopefully not escalate too far. At the very least, he'd always felt calmed by that tone in Dean's voice. "I guess you were serious about coming up here."

"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't." She indicated to the man standing next to her. "Roy, our guide."

Dean nodded his head in a brief hello. "I'm afraid we can't let you in."

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't hear of any official restrictions," Roy piped in and Castiel could see Dean's shoulders tighten in annoyance.

"We're considering this a crime scene," Dean said evenly. They hadn't shared any of their findings or information with the locals yet. There was no need to stir up stories and fantasies with what little they'd found. They had enough to justify a decent sized search party, different trails and different woods, but so far they hadn't received any federal authorization to shut down the reserve yet. Lost Creek was almost a 120,000km area. It'd be nearly impossible to shut down all points of access on only circumstantial evidence. That call would be left up to the individual posts and rangers. Wilkinson hadn't officially agreed to close his.

"So something did happen to him?" Haley asked, eyes wide. She reached her arm out to tug Ben closer to her.

Castiel stepped forward to save Dean from the interrogation. He might've been a people person but there was a certain side-stepping with words that was required with civilians; especially ones that were trying to come into a crime scene. They didn't even have any barriers to keep them to the side lines. He touched Dean's shoulder and ignored the way his fingers tingled after he'd let go. "Miss Collins." She didn't correct him on the name usage. "We're leading an investigation and while not all of the paperwork has reached the right desks, there will be official search and rescue teams going through the forest. We've advised the local rangers to discontinue allowing visitors to enter the reserve."

"It can't be that official if you guys aren't yanking people out that are already in," Roy replied, eyes suspicious.

"We've sent an informational broadcast out but are aware that not campers and hikers can be reached. One of the other reasons that we are advising against more people entering the forest. We already have a handful of people to extract."

"Who are you guys anyway?" Roy asked and Castiel look down. None of them were wearing any of their vests or any identifying markers that they were FBI. Truth be told, he himself looked more like a bureaucrat carrying a gun than a law enforcement officer.

He dug his ID out of his coat pocket and flipped it over to show him. Roy read over the information and both he and Dean were startled a little as he barked out a laugh. "BAU? They brought head shrinks to find missing people?" He let out another laugh at which Castiel frowned. "What are you gonna do, commune with the trees?"

Dean huffed a little and Castiel moved his foot subtly in front of Dean. He would've held out a hand to stop him but that seemed a little excessive. He also wasn't sure if he could've handled that much touching. Luckily for him they seemed to be very well in tune with each other's bodies already and Dean eased up. "We're analysts, Roy. We go over evidence and separate them into patterns and use a scientific method to eliminate probabilities until we find the most plausible and believable ones to go with. While I'm sure we have a specialist team for the occasion we were the team sent through the NCAVC."

"A damn bunch of psychologists," Roy grumbled, smug smirk still on his face.

"No one likes a skeptic, Roy," Dean spoke up.

"Hate to interrupt this dancing around but Charlie's got something she's wanting us to look at."

They turned to see Pamela sticking her head out from behind the door. She jerked her thumb towards the interior of the room. With only a brief glance back, a warning and apology to the two Collins' he led them back into the meeting room. They'd managed to map out a few areas that were their best probabilities to search first. They would split up into small teams, each with an experienced guide, a ranger, and one or two officers. From the five areas they'd circled out a few of them dipped too far into unmarked territory for them to be qualified to walk through by themselves.

It had started out as a well put together plan until they'd found Haley Collins, Ben Collins, and Roy a few hours down the trail.

"What the hell do you guys think you're doing here?" Dean snapped a little. Castiel held himself in check but found himself irritated and for once not wanting to reprimand Dean on harsh language or behavior. It was a well deserved rebuke and despite the bug spray he'd put on the mosquitoes were having a field day with him. His patience was running dangerously short and he'd been very expressive over them staying at the station or going home.

"It wasn't legally closed off, we asked." Ben's angry eyes searched theirs; daring them to fight back. Haley laid a gentle hand on his shoulder to pull him back but didn't argue.

"Didn't we go over this earlier?" Dean groused as he signaled the rest of their troop to stop. They were spread out every feet feet from each other, marching in a forward line.

"Yes we did but-"

"Haley!"

Their heads snapped towards Roy's voice deep in the woods. They hadn't even noticed him sneak off. Irritated, Castiel called to the other members of their party and told them to stay put so that they could be found, then angrily stepped through the rough terrain towards the voice. Haley and Ben took off in front of them. Castiel cursed again trying keep pace while keeping his hand near his weapon. A branch from a low bush snapped him painfully across the thigh and he held in a hiss. An amused chuckle came from behind him and he turned around to momentarily glare. Dean gave him a shrug and a lopsided smile.

For a moment Castiel felt himself suddenly out of breath. The trees were letting in just enough light to play gently under the canopy of branches. They flitted over Dean's arms and face and gave him a gold flecked glow. As if noticing the change in mood, he saw the other man swallow, adam's apple bobbing, and take a tentative step forward. Castiel frowned and tried to move but felt his pant leg snagged by the same branch that had assaulted him before. Leaves and twigs crunched underneath Dean's boots as he came closer and sank to the ground a little. Cas watched with a halted breath as nimble fingers yanked the offending piece of greenery out of his pants.

"Do I need to go first?" came the soft, almost hushed tease. Dean's eyes twinkled as he let himself rise up.

Castiel bit his lip and let his eyes grow cold. He'd been distracted again and had nearly forgotten why they were even there. They were really too close to be respectable and anyone could come looking for them at any minute. "I'm quite capable of handling myself. I've yet to be felled by branches before. I don't intend to start now." He ignored the frown and confused, almost pinched, look that Dean gave him as he turned around. He waved his hand forward to indicate that Dean should follow and hoped that he wouldn't notice the ridging flexing of his arms.

They exited the brush to find a camp site filled with destroyed supplies.

"Shit."

Castiel didn't acknowledge Dean's curse as they looked around the clearing. Every thing had been smashed to pieces and sliced apart. The tent was in tatters and there were large splashes of blood everywhere. Even Roy didn't have anything smug to say. They'd dropped their packs to the ground and the two Collins siblings were trying to keep each other up with trembling legs. Haley had a hand over her mouth and she looked like she was trying not to vomit. Whatever Cas had intended to say was drowned out by a loud, ragged cry for help. They immediately drew out their firearms.

"Okay, everyone stay pu-" Roy took off, Haley and Ben following him "- fuckin' civilians!" Dean cursed.

Despite his earlier frigidness, Castiel was relieved to see that Dean had forgotten about it enough to focus. Dean waited a split second for orders on whether to chase after them as Castiel pulled out their own satellite phone. He nodded to Dean and he took off. After relaying their location to the central outpost and making sure the coordinates had been received, he ran after them. He caught up with three of the group not too far way. Dean had tucked away his weapon and was holding tightly onto the siblings. Roy was nowhere to be seen.

"I can't find him." Dean panted and scanned the wooded area a little more.

"Haley, Ben," Castiel said, hoping that the use of their names would make them more attuned to him. "I don't doubt you understand that you will be walked back to the outpost."

"But-"

"Hey, listen to him." Dean eased up his grip on her and let her turn around to face him. "Look, I know what it's like. The whole all you have thing?" Castiel watched as Dean bit his lip, tensing up a little. It was understandingly hard to talk about. "Trust me, I do. But I can promise you this, you're not gonna help anything by wandering around here tracking your foot prints all over the site." If it hadn't been such a dire situation Castiel might have laughed. He could still remember holding in Meg's organs as Dean took off in the van, hell bent on finding his brother.

Haley looked for a moment as if she was going to protest but something in the look in Dean's eye made her give. For a moment Castiel felt that rumble of jealousy attempt to inch back forward. This was bad. He shouldn't be becoming greedy over Dean's expressions. They weren't only his to possess.

"Okay."

Ben looked up at his older sister's soft mumble. "What?!"

"Listen to your sister, kid," Dean said letting go of him too, trusting that she would make sure he didn't take off. They already had one runaway, they didn't need two.

Castiel waited until they had walked past him, following a trail of broken brush to the campsite, before giving Dean a slightly impressed expression. He saw the other man blush a little and shrug. Dean paused for a moment as he passed. There was flicker of something in his green eyes and Castiel briefly caught a small aborted movement of his arm. He'd almost reached out but then the light drifted out of Dean's eyes again and he looked a little ashamed. With hunched shoulders he marched forward after the Collin's family.

Perhaps Castiel needed to ease up with abruptness. The case had picked up steam rather well and he still hadn't had the time to explain. Of course he was still hoping against hope that Dean understood. That this wasn't a blow off,hat... whatever it was that was happening, that he was interested in preserving their friendship. The softness of their interaction simply wasn't fit for the field, and maybe, Castiel thought guiltily, not even for friendship. He could barely remember the last time he'd had a crush. Even the word made him cringe as he followed back to the site. It wasn't appropriate and it was doubly inappropriate to realize it, with a steadily growing horror, at a crime scene.

Trying to shake himself out of it, he switched the tactics in his brain. Castiel simply admired the man. He was impressive in the field, had been since their first adventure. Dean continued to astound him with his rather sharp learning curve. He hadn't even been in Virginia for more than three, now almost four weeks and he was as good as any of his other agents. Dean had a penchant for empathy and dealt with civilians much better than Castiel had expected. Perhaps he should've considered letting him take the lead earlier.

Admiration.

That's all it was. His strange feelings existed because hand-in-hand with his admiration and their closeness, Dean happened to be a very attractive male. It was understandable that he would be momentarily confused. Satisfied with his conclusion he nodded to himself and cleared the last of the branches to find Dean, the two Collins', and another officer staring around, lost.

"What's wro-" The sentence died in Castiel's throat as he noticed that the supplies that the Collin's and Roy had brought were no longer at the site. He gathered from the equally perplexed look on the rangers face that they hadn't been acquired by anyone on their team.

They were being watched, and not by someone with kindness in mind.

"Have you already-?"

"Yeah, radioed it in," Dean spoke. He kept a protective hand around the two. "We've got a handful of guys scrounging around the perimeter. We didn't run off far and these guys were right next to us. Whoever nicked all this shit couldn't have gotten far, and not with all the stuff he was carrying."

"What did they say?" Castiel asked as he contemplated on whether or not he needed to tuck his firearm away.

"Told us to stay put for a moment. They're gonna put more agents out in the woods. We're waiting on Widas and Neuman to get back and they're gonna escort these two to the station. They didn't say anything about Roy."

"Makes sense," Castiel murmured as he carefully stepped around the blood stains on the ground; it wouldn't help to step on evidence.

His frustration at Roy eased a little later.

The Collins' had been safely extracted and placed under the care of Ranger Wilkinson, who had finally agreed to cut off access to Lost Creek. He'd also ordered an extraction of all remaining campers mandatory until the issues was solved.

They'd expected foul play after an hour or so without Roy checking in with them. He'd been an experienced hunter and trapper; there shouldn't have been a reason for him not to come back or check in. Making sure they still had daylight left, it was unwise to go out in the dark, they'd set out in a much larger team. Now that they had a solid starting point they could continue. They'd brought forensics out to the site and had followed a trail from there. The forest seemed unearthly still as they each followed behind an armed guide.

After an hour of searching, Roy had been discovered hanging upside down from a collection of low hanging branches. Bled out like slaughter.

Time was running out on daylight but they'd still stopped to make sure that forensics found the body first before they moved further.

"He wasn't that bad of a guy," Dean muttered next to Cas as they watched forensics untangle him from the branches and organize him into a body bag to be carried out.

"No, no, he wasn't." Castiel's voice was barely above a whisper as the body was carted out.

With sunlight fading fast they pushed on with their efforts, trying to at least find something to work with before night fall. In a forest a trail could go cold within hours. There was no way of telling just how much damage and ground they would loose by night fall. The more time passed the worse off the missing boys were as well. Despite odds, their team had a tendency to assume people alive unless substantial evidence indicated otherwise. Most of the officers and rangers were convinced that they were butchered already; somewhere in chunks or as some of them joked with dark humor, in someone's stew.

Why they hadn't gone straight for the abandoned mine would be something that Castiel would question for a long time to come. After, of course, he came to terms with how panicked he'd been over Dean.

They'd separated into teams to gain more ground and after finding one of the boys alive (Tommy Collins to everyone's great relief) separated further to explore the mine. They'd had to wait for clearance on the status of the crumbling structure but the second they'd had clearance Dean had taken off with vigor. Whether it was because Dean was tired of stepping into loose strips of flesh and piles of intestines on the ground or he wanted to get the man responsible, Castiel would have to ask him later. Whenever he was done imagining the ways to skin Dean for his recklessness.

It hadn't really been Dean's fault. Bad things happened out in the field.

There'd been a yelp from Dean and a clunk followed by the sound of a weapon's discharge. They'd ran down the mines to find Dean's gun lying on metal tracks.

Dean had been cornered in a dead end tunnel with a red flare brandished against his attacker.

Castiel hadn't thought twice before telling Dean to duck and firing two shots into the assailants shoulder, and then two to each knee.

The last time his heart had thumped this loudly had been when he'd found Dean kneeling on the ground with Azazel's gun pointed to his forehead. It had taken more self control than he cared to admit not to have gone for a kill shot in the mine.

Dean had given him a boyish grin as he'd gotten up, and pulled out a pair of cuffs. The killer was bleeding from four different wounds but that didn't mean that he wouldn't be able to move to attack again. Castiel hadn't even taken a look at the killers face before he turned around and marched out of the cave. Dean was safe, and he wanted out of that suffocating humid air. It was making his head spin.

No, this was not admiration.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

The case had wrapped up rather well but it didn't help it sit well with Dean. He'd attempted again to sit where he had on the flight coming in but noticed a different atmosphere on the plane. Not from any of the others. It was actually pretty damn subtle but Cas felt different. He'd felt different all case long. Dean of course had tried not to let it bother him but he liked Cas, a lot, and it would've been nice to know what the hell he'd done to piss him off. Where had he crossed the boundaries? His worry over what was going on with Cas kept him preoccupied the entire flight. It had come as a complete surprise when they'd touched down back home. He'd lingered for a moment, as he and Cas usually did, only for Castiel to have packed all of his stuff and marched off of the plane first.

No one else seemed to mind.

He wasn't going to let himself pout, that was undignified, but he was getting a little tired of the cold shoulder treatment. Dean out-waited the rest of the team leaving. It didn't take long. They were aware of the usual after-case ritual. Except, the longer that Dean waited and the more lights were turned off the more agitated he was becoming. Was Cas blowing him off? With an angry huff and ready for a fight (anger was the best remedy for heart ache) he marched up the small set of stairs and straight into Cas' office. He hadn't even given him the courtesy of a knock.

"Wha-?" Castiel's face quickly schooled itself out of shock and into a frown. "Can I help you?"

Dean noticed a glass on the table and a corked bottle of scotch sitting next to it. "Drinking at work? I hear that's pretty illegal."

Castiel's frown deepened and he pushed the bottle out of the way. "It's after hours. Now what did you need?"

"Need?" Dean stepped forward and Cas backed away a little. It was at least good to know that he was intimidating. "What the hell did I do?"

"Do?" Cas' expression became pinched with confusion.

"You've been treating me like shit since the case started. So what the hell did I do?" Dean told himself that he wouldn't let his voice crack, but while he'd been waiting for Cas his mind had run through too many dark thoughts. Mainly about having to come face to face with his brother again. He couldn't loose Cas. Even if he hadn't craved the man's attention, the man's touch; he couldn't loose the only support he had. Dean didn't think he could do it alone.

"I wasn't." Castiel sighed and crossed his arms. A stubborn look flitted over his face. "Dean, the only thing I have done is remind you of work standards."

"Work standards? What fuckin' work standards?"

"Cussing at me will not help, Agent Winchester."

Dean nearly spat on the ground. "It's after hours, remember? I can do whatever the fuck I want" Dean stepped forward again but kept a relatively far distance. If he got too close he was worried he'd do something rash. At the moment his meter was bouncing between a fist in the face or a rather violent kiss. Both seemed like very bad ideas. "So what the hell did I do? 'Cause everything seemed fine."

"Everything was not fine." Castiel grit his teeth and Dean swore he could hear them squeak underneath the pressure. "You can't be so lax with yourself while we're on a case."

"Lax? Lax with myself?" Now Dean was confused.

"Your behavior, it bordered on inappropriately affectionate," Castiel bit out and there and there was strange flush sneaking over his cheeks. Dean ignored it.

"Affectionate? I flirt with everyone all the time and no one cares."

An aborted sound tried to tumble past Cas' lips. He snapped his mouth shut tightly and Dean tried to recall just exactly what he'd done. On previous cases he had flirted left and right with both Pam and Ellen and other officers they came in contact with. He was pretty sure Pamela only humored him and Ellen usually just shut him down with an eye roll. It had never been a problem before.

"It needs to be kept out of the work place." Castiel shifted awkwardly against his desk, leaning back behind it and settling his hands on the edge.

Slowly it felt like a light was dawning in Dean's brain. He might've been new to profiling but that didn't mean he was a stranger to body language. The only thing he'd done different during this case had been to take more liberties with Cas. Horror shocked through him for a moment. Castiel had noticed his crush and didn't reciprocate. More than that found it _inappropriate. _He was about to apologize and never come back to the office again when he realized just exactly what Cas had said. _'kept out of the workplace.' _

"Cas."

The man in question stared at him for a moment before biting his lip and refusing to look up. The blush tinted Cas' ears momentarily. Dean's breathing sped up and his heart hammered. A rush of heat spread from the top of his head, down his back, and to his groin were it pooled and settled. He swallowed thickly and made an aborted movement towards the other man. If he was right, and so far he'd never been wrong about this type of thing, then there were good things in his future. Very good things. Hot, damn near scandalous, good things. He licked his lips and didn't miss the way Cas focused on the movement, trying to subtly look out of the corner of his eye. Dean repeated the motion and sucked his lower lip in, canting his stance a little. The subtle movement dropped Cas' eyes momentarily further down and Dean felt his pulse speed at the implication.

"It's okay."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean," Castiel bit back. His voice sounded rough and a little breathy, like he'd been running.

"Cas- do you? It's never a problem when I've flirted with someone." Dean closed his hands in fists to keep from moving forward and reaching out. "'Cause I..." Silence consumed the room. They stared at each other. It felt like electrical wire had been stretched between them and it was lighting up with violent sparks.

"Dean...Is there something we need to talk about?" Cas whispered. He sounded nervous and judging by the tapping of his foot, a little anxious.

Dean watched as Castiel's chest rose and fell, slowly. If the grip on the desk was anything to go by, he was having just as much trouble as him keeping away. Instead of moving forward Dean glanced behind him and at the closed door. The hallway light and the small lamp on Cas' desk were all that remained on. There was a sliver of moonlight coming in through the blinds but that didn't provide a lot of illumination; just enough to set a tone to the night.

"If we don't talk about it, then there's no problem. Right?" His voice came out huskier than he'd intended but it wasn't something he could help.

He watched Cas look guiltily to the side and bite his lip again. Dean took a tentative step forward, and then another, suddenly made confident by lust. He kept looking at Cas as he approached, stopping less than an arm length away from him. He traced the outline of the man's lips with his eyes and hummed a little noise to himself. "You should take better care of those lips."

"I wasn't aware there was anything wrong with them," Castiel mumbled. He brought up a hand to his mouth and traced around it with the tips of his fingers.

"It's nothing bad," Dean said shaking his head. It was taking all of his self-control not to step forward and shove the the other man against the desk. It had been way too long and he'd held in too many fantasies. "Maybe a few dabs of chapstick, a little less biting." Castiel bit his lip on reflex and Dean felt a groan try and rumble its way out of his chest. "Okay maybe keep the biting."

Cas' pupils darkened, spreading out and consuming the blue of his eyes. "Agent Winchester."

"For the _last _time, it's _Dean._" He stepped forward the last few inches into his boss' personal space. The anger at Cas had been stripped away and reformed into fire. A heated pulse underneath his skin. He kept his hands to himself like a good boy but let out a breathy sigh as their hips brushed against each other. A rush of satisfaction and pride swept through his veins as he felt a swelling tenting in Cas' slacks.

"Dean," Castiel whispered, tilting his head up, eyes wide. There was a stutter in his breath and despite the anger in them Cas didn't react much more. Dean nearly smirked. It was easy to forget that he was taller, it tended to even the playing field when dealing with other alpha male types.

He canted his head a little and let his lips hover right above Cas' ear, "Yeah Cas?"

A low whine vibrated in Cas' throat as the grip on his desk turned his knuckles white. There was an involuntary twitch of his hips to which Dean responded to in kind.

"I'm your superior," Cas managed to bite out as they stood in the near dark, panting into each other.

"No, not right now. After hours, remember? Right now, you're my Cas." Dean leaned forward enough to let his lips brush across the sensitive edge of Castiel's ear.

Cas huffed and tilted his head in for more contact. Their stubble brushed against each other and Dean let a tentative hand trail down Cas' upper arm, cup his elbow, and then trace down to where he was clutching onto the table tightly. As Cas relented, relaxing a little, the phone started ringing. Castiel cursed but couldn't move as Dean turned his attention to Cas' neck. He mouthed at the pulse point and followed a line all the way down, until he touched the collar of the shirt; licked his way back up, only to kiss his way back down. He ghosted and nosed his way back up until he could nibble at a spot right underneath Cas' ear. Dean breathed in deeply and started the same trail down, leaving gentle nips and bites, this time nudging Castiel's head up so that he could follow the strong edge of his chin; finally hovering at the edge of Castiel's lips.

The phone continued ringing as they panted, Castiel clenching and unclenching his hands on the table; fighting morality and professionalism over wanting a taste. "De-ean," he whined, trying to figure out a way to successfully separate himself and answer the phone.

"Leave it for voice mail," Dean responded, pulling back a little and whispering it against his lips.

"It-it could be important," Castiel protested, grinding his hips forward a little and making Dean break contact to drop his head on Cas' shoulder; breathing hot air into the crevice of his neck and collarbone.

"You're not even supposed to be here," Dean panted. "Supposed to be at home." The ringing stopped, "See."

"You're far too smug for your own good," Cas bit back. It didn't have quite the authoritative tone he'd wanted. It was hard to be reprimanding when you were having trouble breathing.

"You like me smug," Dean chuckled before wrapping his lips around an exposed piece of Castiel's neck, right above the adam's apple, and sucking.

Cas' arms flew off of the desk and around Dean's biceps. He spread his legs against the table and let Dean sink between them. A sharp exhalation burst from him as Dean pulled off, lapping at the spot and nibbling his way back up to his mouth. Dean chuckled, pleased with his handy work and Castiel reacted to the burning in him. He stood up, pushing Dean away before whirling him around to slam against the office wall. Dean grunted and let out a moan, gladly letting Cas take the lead. He enjoyed his dominance but it wasn't any fun if the other person just rolled over without playing a little.

He was eternally thankful that Cas liked to play.

Whatever thoughts he'd had, bordering on arrogance, were swept away when he finally felt lips on his. Dean opened his mouth and inhaled in a quick bursts. Cas' tongue darted in after the inhale and Dean moaned into the slick slide of their tongues. He let Castiel control the kiss for a moment, just trying to hold on for dear life, before surging forward and tugging Cas' lower lip between his teeth. Gently he nibbled on it, listening to Castiel groan, before licking his way into the other mans mouth. Their hips moved against each other, cocks hard, as Dean's hand slipped to the edge of Cas' slacks. He tugged out an end of the crisp and clean button up shirt. He felt Castiel's control over the situation slipping a little as he inched his hand underneath the shirt, finger tips dancing across the heated skin there.

The phone started ringing again but neither of them noticed. Dean ran his other hand up along Castiel's back before letting it tangle up in the strands of hair. He was glad it was long enough to grab; Dean liked a little leverage when he fucked.

"Dean," Castiel huffed out, breathing heavily.

His name sounded good panted out like that.

Cas moved to nip at Dean's exposed collarbone; when his top few buttons had become undone neither of them could tell. It didn't even matter that much once Cas set to work suckling and mouthing at the dip of the collarbone. Dean groaned as he felt Cas bring in a hint of teeth, grazing them across his skin before going back to the same spot. He was going to have one hell of a hickey in the morning.

They rutted against each other and Dean slipped his hands away from Cas' hair and his hip to bring them to his ass. He let his fingers massage the soft flesh leisurely before pulling. They both let out a soft moan as their cocks lined up with each other; scorching hot through even their slacks.

"We-we can't," Castiel mumbled out, grinding forward again. "Work."

Dean nearly laughed. He'd have to work harder if Cas was still able to make coherent words. "After hours, remember? Different rules?" He nipped at the lobe of Cas' ear as the man looked at his desk where the bottle of scotch was still sitting out.

And they probably would've continued until they were naked and panting in after glow except looking at the desk had called Cas' attention back to the phone. He'd intended to let it be a momentary distraction until the answering machine clicked on, playing the message out loud as it was being recorded.

"_Agent Novak._"

Zachariah's voice washed over Castiel like a cold bucket. Dean only frowned, not knowing who it was. For a moment he'd tried to continue but even thrumming with heat, he could notice that his partner had gone stiff, and not in a good way.

"_It's Adler. This is my second time trying this number. I attempted to call your home phone as well as your cellphone. I assume your an in commute or otherwise unavailable. I have left a message on both your cellphone and your home phone and ask that you call me back immediately. You've been summoned." _

The answering machine beeped loudly indicating that the message had been successfully recorded.

Dean sighed and let his head lean back, closing his eyes to try and regain some composure. He felt Cas lean into him a little bit, probably trying to do the same. He glanced down and noticed the rather sullen expression on the other man's face. "Not after hours after all then?" He tried for a joke.

Castiel sighed and straightened himself, cheeks still flushed and hair mussed. "I'm afraid not." He moved away from Dean stiffly and towards the desk, adjusting his clothing as he did.

Dean felt cold and nervous. Now that they were cooling down... He gulped and straightened out his own clothing as well. He sure as hell didn't regret what had happened and was looking forward to more explosions of passions (who'd known all he would've had to have done since day one was to get into an argument with the guy), but that didn't mean that Cas felt the same.

"I'm sorry Dean, I-"

"Hey, no worries. Sucks being the boss right?" Dean joked, a painful smile on his face. His chest ached. "Listen, I'll ah... leave you to it then." His knees shook a little as he headed for the door. He really should've learned a long time ago not to be impulsive.

He wasn't expecting to be stopped by a hand at his elbow.

"You have awful bedside manner," Castiel groused and then pulled him gently down for a quick peck of the lips.

Dean only let himself remain baffled for a moment before pulling Cas in, arms around his waist and giving him a proper kiss. "I wasn't sure-"

"Dean. I do not regret what happened," Castiel said pulling back and straightening his tie. Back to business. "It's something we'll have to talk about but not now."

"Yeah, I get that. So, tomorrow then?" Dean tried not to let his voice carry too much hope. It was ridiculous. Of course they would see each other tomorrow. They had work.

Castiel gave him a wavering smile. It ended up barely counting as a twitch of lips. "Perhaps a little later. Meetings with him usually require at least quick flight."

Dean cringed and stepped forward again. "That sucks." He smirked as he fixed Castiel's tie for him. He'd noticed on multiple occasions that it was sometimes always a little rumpled. He'd found it endearing but now that he had could touch him, Dean would make sure to find every excuse to. "Good luck I guess, with the flying thing then."

Castiel's smile was a little more genuine this time. "I'm not the one with the issue Dean."

"Excuse me for trying to be nice," Dean teased. He gave Castiel one last quick peck before taking in a deep breath and opening the door. "Don't stay up too late."

Dean barely heard the soft 'I'll try' as he closed the door to give him some privacy.

He'd been lucky not to hit anything in the parking garage as he'd headed home, elated and buzz drunk with endorphins.

Despite the lights being off and still feeling uneasy about his brother; Dean slept fitfully that night.

**A/N: **-goes into the corner of shame- My second try at something smutty. And I know I said I'd introduce a new character the next chapter but once I saw this hit 15 pages and I still wasn't done with the first case and bit it wasn't going to happen. Next week then? (Also I'm participating in GISHWHES. I've outlined the chapter, so I may be able to make a short update, but remember that I'll be running around doing stuff!) Still unbeta'd since my beta is busy. :)


	18. Spinning Stories

**A/N: **Sorry for the delay but those of you who have been following my work tumblr (goodquestionharlie) already know that I was traveling for a week and then I had my first semester start. But hopefully this new chapter will make up for the delay. Enjoy. (Un-beta'd once more because they are still working through the previous chapters but I didn't feel right keeping you guys waiting.)

**Chapter 18: Spinning Stories**

Dean yawned widely in his bed and stretched his body out. A smile curled onto his lips as he pushed his arms out to the side and felt his back pop. He smacked his lips and opened his eyes, shocked to find them already clear of sleep. A small ray of light was shining through the blinds and across his bed and Dean was surprised it didn't even bother him like it did most mornings. In fact, he actually kinda liked it. He lounged in bed for a few minutes longer before taking a look at the clock and frowned. The only time he woke up this refreshed was well past noon on Saturdays. The little red light showed 6:45AM and a small "FRI" in the corner. He'd never woken up before his alarm, especially not in a good mood.

"What the hell?" Dean muttered as he sat up. He swung his legs over the edge of his bed and let his elbows rest on his knees. Dean rubbed at his eyes until small lights started dancing in front of them and tried to concentrate.

Memory flooded his bones and he straightened in bed, back going rigid. Dean felt heat riding through his system as recollection brought back a warm body across his and soft lips on his neck. He could feel a phantom hand stroking across his hip.

"Oh god." The exclamation danced a fine line between awe and embarrassment. Now, in the bright light of day, the steamy office incident was sharper. He played through the memories, thoughts caressing certain moments as they passed, and tried to collect himself enough to get up. Dean was smiling by the end of the replay.

"I'll be damned," he whispered to himself as he wandered towards the bathroom. He chuckled briefly at his reflection in the mirror and ran his fingertips over the small hickies that had been left along his collarbone and neck. Dean didn't let himself think too much about the electric current that had swept through him. Some of them would not be covered by his work shirt. They'd gotten a little carried away.

Dean let the evening before run rampant through his mind as he showered, switching between whistling a tune (damn near singing), letting out small moans, and letting his hand trail across his body to match his memories. He didn't even bother being quiet when he finally came, leaning back against the tile wall with a grin on his face.

Cas was interested in him. Well, interested enough to rut against him after hours in his office. Dean hoped to be able to get him bent over that desk the next time they stayed once the lights had been turned off. It wasn't like he, and he hoped that Cas would be the same way, held any special importance to where a 'first time' between two people had to happen. The sooner the better, too. Then again, even if the next time it didn't happen quite that way Dean couldn't wait for Cas to get back. They'd been cut off way too quickly and he was already missing the guy.

The only thing he wasn't looking forward to was any kind of serious conversation.

He felt his good mood deflating quickly.

Dean tried not to let it get to him as he pulled out a pan and dug out strips of bacon from the fridge. Logically he knew that there would have to at least be some dialogue. Not just because he wanted to talk to the guy, Dean genuinely enjoyed his company, but because they worked together. All of Dean's previous office flings had been one night romps or quickies in broom closets never to be spoken of again. It had been a system that so far hadn't failed him and it had always been someone from a different sector or office. It wasn't like he'd rucked up the skirt of the person that was going to be watching his back at the next sting operation.

He also didn't want to let it stay a one night stand. His skin itched with the need for a repeat performance.

"God damn it," Dean mumbled as he laid strips of bacon into the heated pan. He sighed a little as he watched them begin to sizzle and leaned back against the counter. Fantasies were easy. It had been easy to imagine all the things he could do to Cas, and maybe have Cas do to him. When it came to the real deal? He felt sixteen again. In his fantasies there was never an awkward morning after. There was never a 'what happens next' conversation. Dean knew he didn't want to lose Castiel's friendship for sure. It was one of the few things keeping him sane and stable and so far it had been extremely dependable. At least, their relationship had kept a good track record since, over a little over a year ago, Cas had come stumbling into his life for the OKC bombing. Then returned once more after a few months to save his brother. It was odd when he put it in a timeline how long they'd been in touch. Oh god, did this mean he'd have to get him a Christmas present this year?

In fantasies moments of passion never had consequences that could end unfavorably for him. He didn't want this to end badly.

"Dean?"

Dean snapped out of his thoughts to find a disgruntled Sam standing at the edge of the kitchen.

"Mornin' sunshine."

"Dean, the bacon is burning."

"No it's no-" Dean stopped his sentence short as he turned his head back to the pan where small billows of smoke were starting to rise from the unrecognizable bits of crisp on the pan. "Fuck!" He rushed to turn the stove off and cranked the water on, worried about the bacon catching fire. Dean let the burnt pieces slip into the sink and forgot that it was a bad idea to put a hot pan underneath cold water. Steam wafted into his face as he yanked the pan back out and cursed again. The morning had started so nicely too.

As he fiddled with the remnants of what was supposed to be a hearty breakfast Sam sighed and shook his head. Without saying anything he pulled out another pan and drizzled oil into it. Dean watched, trying to scrape off some of the burnt pieces from his own pan, as Sam dug out more pieces of bacon and started to cook.

"I can do that ya know," Dean said petulantly. He was a grown ass man; he could cook his own bacon.

"Apparently, you can't."

"Can too."

"Right, would you like to eat your, now soggy, burnt pieces of charcoal or real breakfast?" Sam shot back, turning around to give Dean a 'look'. Sam opened his mouth as if to add something else before closing it. It took Dean a moment to figure out that he was staring at the hickies splattered across his neck line. Sam raised his eyebrow. "I guess you had a fun night then. No wonder you burnt the bacon. Letting your dick do the cooking is a safety hazard."

"Hey! Not like I was jerking it at the stove," Dean defended. For the most part he let the comment slide. Letting Sam believe that he'd been replaying the naughty bits and not having an emotional crisis was better anyway. He'd be damned if he let Sam know the stupid shit that was really bothering him. A knot formed in his stomach as he thought about telling Sam at all. Fucking your boss was definitely something he'd get a lecture for; though they technically hadn't even fucked yet.

"Right." Sam turned back to the stove and moved the pieces around.

The conversation ended there and in a morning of firsts he found himself wishing for something, anything, to talk about. The silence crowded around him like a straight jacket and he started to get fidgety. They hadn't spoken since he'd let it slip about his deal and if he didn't find something to talk about, or better yet joke about, he felt his like his mouth was just going to run off on him. It didn't even take long before he'd exhausted everything around the kitchen to look at it; including what he could see of the living room had been thoroughly mentally cataloged. Leaving the kitchen would be the cowards way out and he wasn't about to do something so lame. For the second time that morning he reminded himself that he was a damn adult and that he could handle a little bit of silence in his own house.

The resolution didn't last long as his body betrayed him and he started spewing out words. "Sam, look-"

"Dean, it's fine."

"What?" Dean straightened himself on the counter. Judging by the clipped tone Sam knew exactly what Dean had been trying to start talking about. What he hadn't expected was how legitimate the 'fine' sounded. He'd expected more fight and fuss than this.

Before Dean could let himself feel offended by Sam's quick acceptance of the situation his brother continued. "I'm gonna find a way to fix this."

Dean sighed and leaned back against the counter. Of course. "Sammy-"

"No, don't 'Sammy' me." He turned around and Dean found himself wishing he'd been blessed with the taller stature of the two. It was hard to be the tough older brother when you were being towered over. "I got you into this mess, I'm gonna get you out. That's a promise."

"Sam, no. You can't do that," Dean sighed, frustrated. "If I get out you get put back on the chopping block."

Sam's eyes darkened for a moment but the determined spark didn't lose it's flare. Then again, Dean wouldn't have expected anything else from him. "Watch me, Dean. I'll figure it out. It's my turn to save your ass. Now eat your bacon."

Dean didn't even have time to form a proper rebuttal as Sam yanked a plate out of the dishwasher and piled Dean's bacon on it. Sam shoved the dish into his hands and marched back into his room, door closing maybe a little louder than it should've. Though in fairness Dean was probably reading into things too much. With his mood souerred by his own insecurities over Cas and his brother's declaration of getting himself into more trouble, Dean left for work. At the very least he now had his Impala to drive and tried to let the road drag away some of the black cloud that hung over him.

It faded faster than he'd expected as the elevator doors dinged open and he walked through the doors onto their floor. His eyes immediately flew to Cas' office. An unbid smile flashed across his face and he felt himself swell a little. Dean bit his lip as he tried to control his breathing. He hadn't expected the physical reaction to the flashback to be that strong now that he was not five feet from where Cas had backed him up against a wall. He had to pinch his thigh, in a way he hoped was subtle, for a good few minutes before he felt comfortable moving; even then he made sure to speed to his desk and nearly broke the chair collapsing into it. Ellen shot him a look and Dean gave her a short, curt head nod. All of a sudden the fact that he had visible hickies seemed like the worst thing that could've ever happened to him. He'd never cared before if a fling left marks on him. He wore them with pride like badges of honor. He'd gotten laid; of course that was something to celebrate. Now though, Dean was convinced that every little mark would suddenly morph into printed letters, dark lines of ownership across his neck. Dean coughed into his fist and straightened himself in the chair, shrugging his shoulders and pushing his collar up a little. He nearly flipped the edge up but stopped himself.

"There something wrong, Winchester?" Ellen finally asked, tired of his fidgeting.

"What? Me?"

"I don't think there's another Winchester working for the FBI," Pam said from her chair. Dean turned a little to glance at her and felt himself tense. She was leaned against her desk, chin in her palm, staring at him. A look at Ellen quickly confirmed that she had the same studious expression on her face. They were friggin' analyzing him.

Slipping into a more solid persona he used during his OKC days he forced his body language to ease. Mentally he focused on each body part in quick succession until he felt himself relax. Dean leaned back in his chair, told his inner voice to 'shut up', and let his body adapt a casual stance, legs spreading wider and shoulders dropping a little. "I'm fine."

Ellen raised her eyebrows at him and tapped a pencil against the planner she had out on the desk. "Right, fine."

The skepticism rang loudly in her words but Dean ignored it. Of course he knew that they were good at spotting body language, knew that they would've seen a forceful shift, but if he could just manage to keep himself calm for the rest of the day he could pass it off as a random off-morning. Now if only they would go back to minding their own business instead of staring at him.

"So- who's the lucky girl?" Pam asked, eyes dancing across Dean's neck.

He froze only for a moment, trying to organize his thoughts quickly. On one hand, there was no girl. It was a guy. If he wanted to he could come back with that and hopefully have the subject drop. Then again, it could lead to more conversation and questions. Dean could also lie. He could make up a name or a story, some young flexible college girl, who went home well satisfied and satiated. The lying had been easy in the past, or at the very least he'd never had problems lying for the sake of 'none-of-your-business', but as he tried to force the words past his grin he found them getting stuck.

He didn't want to lie about Cas. It felt too much like being ashamed.

Luckily he was saved by Bobby trotting down the small steps to the floor and waving a file in his hands. "Break it up ladies-" he gave Dean a quick look when he tried to protest the term"- in the conference room."

Dean let a slow breath push past his lips and waited until Ellen and Pam had gotten up before following. Charlie was already seated and waved a cheerful hello to him as they gathered around the table.

"Where's the boss man?" Pamela asked as she leaned back in her chair, craning her neck to see out of the open door.

"Called away," Dean answered with a small sense of resentment in the back of his mind. Fuck Adler.

"Oh?" Pam leaned forward and smiled at him.

Dean felt a small rush of panic start in the pit of his stomach. "Yeah, we talked."

"He's out on consult with the CIA," Bobby cut in. Pam whistled, impressed. "We've been grounded for the moment until he gets back since we don't have have anyone wanting an advancement and no one wanting to volunteer as a relief supervisor. We're all SAC's as is. All our fly out cases will be forward to the other four BAU branches."

"Makes sense," Ellen said leaning back in her chair. "We doing local cases only or just consult?"

"We've been assigned consult and working through backlog. Top brass sent us a few cold cases they've wanted us to look at that we haven't had time for."

"We've got three big ones that they want as a second look for," Charlie began as she clicked a button on her laptop and the first case came up on the screen. "We're going to start with the most recent one and go back. We've also been given access to the OO files."

"Copies of the files are here," Bobby patted onto a stack on the table, "and you all know where your computers are. Get to work."

They filed out, each grabbing a bundle of files on the way, and Dean already felt like he needed a cup of coffee. He'd had slow days back home but he'd never really been in the department to dig through cold cases. Every case he'd worked on had been active and he wasn't looking forward to spending all day at a desk. He'd secretly hoped that they would've gone on a case, solved it, and that he'd have something to show when Cas got back. So far he assumed that he'd been doing a good job. At the very least other than the comment that had let to the blue balls, all the feedback he'd gotten had been positive. Still, it was like he'd been baby sat most of the way. He wanted to show Cas that he was worth his title.

Dean frowned as he sat down at his desk, opening the first file. He'd never actually spent too much time thinking about it. Whenever they'd first met he'd been in tubes and a hospital gown. Then he'd been out of his mind with concern for his brother. There'd been some down time but he'd never really been let off the leash. It was starting to not sit right with him. Almost like an uneven power balance, and not one he could translate to the bedroom.

Halfway through the day he found himself chewing on a pencil and rolling a penny across across his desk out of his mind bored. He'd phoned a few offices, doodled out a few leads and figured he had at least a few good ones. The only problem was that he'd been put on hold and on waiting lists, but that was the trouble with cold cases and why he hated working them. The pictures had stopped making him sick years ago, the stories still made him angry, and no matter how long it had been unless the killer was caught he felt uneasy. That didn't stop the drag that hit about midday when no one was calling you back and you had weeks of bureaucratic shit to dig through to get anywhere in the file.

He was a field agent not a paper shuffler.

"How's it going?"

Dean let the penny clatter loudly to the floor and dropped the pencil from his mouth. "Uh, hey Bobby."

"Well?"

"Slow," Dean griped with a sigh and bent to pick up the discarded coin. "Never spent a lot of time with cases like this. Especially not one this old."

"Not every day is full of guns blazing in glory."

"Don't I know it," Dean chuckled. Honestly it was starting to remind him a little bit of surveillance. The days in the lot where they'd sit for fifteen hour shifts without so much as a tumbleweed rolling by. While dedicated to the job, him and Victor had figured out stupid games to play during downtime. Fake, or sometimes for who paid for lunch, gambling happened. On things like whether or not the plastic bag barely clinging to a fence would fly off or stay. Some nights they'd had cards. He had never thought that he'd find himself missing those days. More so the man he'd shared them with. Victor had been a good agent. A good friend. Very easy to respect. Dean turned to go back to his work but Bobby hadn't moved, hovering above him.

"Anything else?"

"Why the sour face?"

Dean frowned. He needed to up his game. "Nothing."

"You lie about as well as your father did."

"I must be a professional then." Dean almost let the topic drop by putting on his favorite avoidance method, ignoring the hell out of that person, when he caught up with what Bobby had said. He knew his father had been a legend but it wasn't exactly common to meet people who sounded like they _knew_ him, not just of him. Rufus had served with his father for a little bit, that much he knew, but those days were not something that was very often talked about. Hell, Rufus preferred to speak as little of John as he could. "Huh, knew my dad then? But I figure most people did. Can't say I remember you."

Bobby let out a dry laugh and took a swig of his coffee. "I wouldn't be surprised. Me and your daddy had a bit of a falling out. Your old man wasn't easy to get along with. But I did work with him for a very short time."

"Falling out?"

"Stubborn mule."

It was Dean's turn to laugh, "He could be like that, yeah."

Bobby sipped his coffee in silence and Dean felt fidgety again. He would never trust a sunny, good morning again. He would've rather woken up grouchy and with back pain if it meant not having to deal with waltzing down memory lane, nosy co-workers, and emotional meltdown about his boss. Before Dean could start complaining Bobby leaned forward, taking a quick glance around the office. He lifted one hand to Dean's collar and poked a finger at one of the hickies. "John was a good man and so are you, so let me give you some free advice. You be careful with that."

Dean felt his neck go red and watched with a slightly open mouth as Bobby nodded his head and walked off, checking on the other agents coming back from lunch.

How the hell had he managed to miss lunch?

"Bobby propose to you or something?"

Dean jumped a little. "Jesus! Don't do that."

Ellen laughed and dropped a sandwich onto his desk and held out a coffee cup to him. Dean's belly grumbled and he took both gratefully, tearing into the saran wrap.

"Any progress?"

Dean fumbled around for his papers and handed Ellen a pile, giving Pam another one as she sauntered through the doors. He let them look over his finding's as he ate, pulling out a newspaper from his desk. It was kind of a trashier paper, published daily with gossip and new people to wring through the mud. Most of the news was unreliable and meant to cause drama. It also had a rather morbid daily section of news, a kind of 'weird death' hall of fame obituary page. One of the first mornings that he'd blearily stumbled into the office he'd passed Charlie along the hallway. She'd been nearly in tears as she read through something and Dean had been curious. Since then they'd made a small game of reading through the articles and if they found good ones they would share. Many of the circumstances of death were either completely made up or skewed. Or at least they had to be. They'd promised not to use their power to access coronary reports.

He stood up and walked over to Charlie's broom closet of a work space and knocked on the door. He waited for the 'come-in' before opening it. He stayed outside of the doorway, a piece of sandwich still hanging out of his mouth and waved the newspaper in the air. Food and drink were a big no-no around the computers but he wasn't about to stop eating his lunch because of some dead guy. Dean made his way back to his desk and it wasn't long before Charlie had joined him, the copy of her own newspaper in hand.

"Gross old man. After hours study help my ass."

"Tell me about it. I don't think he was actually a jumper though."

"But you believe that the ghost of a co-ed from thirty years ago killed him?"

"I didn't say that," Dean defended as he looked up the guy on the computer. "I mean this guy was successful as all hell. Happy, with a few books, wife and kids." Dean took a sip of his coffee. "There's no way he just took a nose dive by accident."

"Or it could be just that, an accident. That window looks pretty big, and it had been opened from the inside. Not like he'd been shoved through."

"You know you actually gotta be pretty strong to shove a guy through a window. Those things ain't as fragile as the movies make 'em seem."

"Fair enough, but still he could've been vigorously moving around and salsa'd his way out of the window?"

Dean laughed, "Sure except the distance he cleared didn't come from a straight fall."

"So we're back to a dead co-ed?"

"Or living co-ed, witnesses say they saw him going up there with a student that night. Though, I don't think some tiny thing could've tossed him out of the window either."

"How do you know she was tiny?"

"Oh come on, skeevy old men never go for the amazonian types."

"Moot point, not applicable in all cases. And besides, ghosts have super human strength."

"You're not seriously running with that?"

"I don't see you coming up with a better explanation for the swan dive. _And _the building has a haunted legend."

"Don't you guys get enough of dead people at work?" Ellen asked, eyebrow raised. Dean and Charlie looked up from their discussion.

"It's good to remain involved in your own community." Charlie flipped the page to get more of the article on the suicide.

"Yeah, informed. We're just being proactive," Dean defended as they started making bets on new information coming out and how the case would end up.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Since Dean's little atomic bomb of a surprise Sam had been spending most of his nights trying to think of plans. The first night he'd been thankful that Dean had been flown out on a case. He wasn't sure if he could've stopped himself from taking a swing. It wasn't like his usual tactic was to handle emotional upheavals with violence but he'd felt like exploding. Dean was an idiot. A caring idiot but an idiot.

His anger had faded during the next days and he'd gone into auto-pilot, but that hadn't meant that he'd let himself be useless.

He'd taken advantage of Dean's absence to spend most of his free time bouncing from library to library. Not just local, public ones. He'd hunted down a few law schools in the area to flip through their files. From Richmond to Lee and the University of Virginia. Just because he was legally suspended from accessing FBI files didn't mean that he was banned from all other material. Admitted, the research had been proven mostly useless. He was well aware that just about all of the information that could actually help him was classified. There were a couple of articles, news clippings, but nothing of importance.

Despite feeling like he was going back on some imaginary promise he had caved and at least put out feelers through some of his old law school buddies. He'd even risked dropping a few requests to people at the OKC field office.

He hadn't seen Dean when he arrived back from the case, which had actually been a good thing considering what he'd done. Another thing he was going to tack onto a list of growing discomforts was that he'd gone snooping. Sam knew better and of course Dean's things were sacred . He himself could pitch a fit when his stuff was touched. Still, Sam told himself it was for a good cause.

In Dean's personal belongings he'd found a scribbled list of numbers, in code. It was in a box with some of his old stuff from Oklahoma and it had taken awhile for Sam to figure out some of the phone numbers on it. The one he'd figured out first was 'Bela.' It had struck a strange chord in the back of his mind and he swore to himself that he'd heard the name before. It wasn't a friend, Sam would've known since Dean had so few of them, and it sure as hell wasn't a co-worker. After having worked their files over for so many years there wasn't a name he could easily forget. He'd made a copy of the number and tucked it into his pocket, intending to call it when he heard Dean whistling as he walked to their door.

Sam didn't see him until the morning and now here he was, sitting and waiting nervously for the number to call back. Dean had left for work hours ago and his shift at the bar had been short. There had been no personally recorded voice mail message for the number but Sam had left one with his name anyway. Which in retrospect could go really poorly. Not everyone was had gotten on the 'pity the poor Winchesters' bus. Some had become down right malicious and skeptical, as Gordon had. Sam began to perspire a little as he started to convince himself that what he'd just done was a bad idea. When his cell phone rang he nearly jumped off of the bed. He fumbled with the phone before answering.

"Hello? Sam here." His voice stuttered a bit, out of breath.

"_Sam Winchester. I never did think I'd get a chance to talk to you. Dean's very very protective of you. Tell me, is he dead? I'm sure he would've never shared this number on his own."_

"I- No. He's not. He doesn't know-"

"_You stole it?" _Bela laughed. _"That's rich. Utterly rich. Now that's brotherly love. He's going string you up." _

"It's for a good reason," Sam snapped. He was nervous enough and being made fun of wasn't helping. He also didn't like the way she talked about Dean. Maybe it had been a mistake to call. "Besides, how do you know he didn't give it to me."

The voice over the phone sobered, _"Because we had an agreement. And along with those pretty, plump lips and long lashes; he's a man of his word. Because we have history." _

Sam frowned into the phone and wished the conversation were happening in person. Even without usually being a good negotiator, his sheer size at least sometimes swayed people into a bit of nerves. Unsteady ground was easier to work with. He also didn't like this 'arrangement' she was talking about. Was she one of the people holding the contract for Azazel on Dean? Was she his leash? But that didn't make sense because the paper and ink had looked worn, and the receipt it had been written on was completely washed out except for a few shadows. Sam made a disgusted face as he thought about what other arrangements it could mean. He really hoped he wasn't speaking to some hooker Dean had kept a relationship with.

"_Oh come on now. We're just having a bit of fun. You don't have your brother's sense of humor at all." _

"Look, lady-"

"_Bela, my name is Bela"_

"I just- who are you? To Dean?"

The woman chuckled a bit. _"Very useful." _

"That's not an answer," Sam snapped.

"_Grouchy too. First answer me this, there has to be a very good reason for you to have snuck through your brother's possessions. And I promise you, Sam, that I would have been informed previously if he'd willingly shared this number. So, if he's not dead, what would the _law abiding _brother want from _me_?" _

Sam swallowed at the change in tone. He could hear her smirking on the other line. If there wasn't any sexual or romantic component, and with where he'd found the number, it was a very good chance that she was somehow related to law enforcement. "I guess there's no point in beating around the bush."

"_No. There isn't. Something to remember for the future; don't try to slip something by me or cover something up. Chances are I already know about it." _

"What? So you're some kind of spy?" Sam couldn't help but let a amused skepticism slip into his tone.

"_That's not clever at all, Sam. For someone who called _me _you're very into yourself. One would think being a puppet in Azazel's personal horror show would've given you some sense of humility." _

Sam's mouth went dry and his mouth snapped shut.

"_Aaah," _Bela said after Sam's silence. _"I should've known."_

"What do you know?" Sam asked, shaken. Finally, someone who seemed like they knew something.

"_Uh-uh. That's not how this works."_

"Please, I need to know."

"_Don't beg, it's unbecoming." _Sam made a small noise of protest. _"I'm not a spy, I'm not an agent. But what I am is the best at what I do, and it's not a service I offer for free." _Sam remained silent, with their recent move he wasn't sure just how much money they had left in savings. Hospital bills had drained their bank account significantly too. It didn't help that even if he'd wanted to pawn a few items Dean would probably notice. At the very least they didn't have any family bank accounts or some crap to where Dean would see his spending.

"I can pay."

"_Wonderful! Now, I have some rather pressing engagements, you're lucky you carry that name or I might not have even called back. I'll be in touch." _

The phone went dead and a loud, steady buzz rang against his ear. He swallowed and sighed, putting the phone down, and resting his head against his drawn up knees.

This was bad.

It had to be bad.

There was no way any part of that phone call had sounded legal. Were it any other time he probably would've questioned more why his brother had that number in the first place. Then again it wasn't like they didn't regularly employ informants. She could well be one of them. He also hadn't thought, in his rush to figure something out, that this Bela woman could very easily turn around and call Dean. He didn't want that roof falling down on his neck yet, he'd barely managed to dig himself out from the one that had collapsed the first time he'd screwed up.

For better or for worse Sam didn't really end up having a lot of time to mope over it. Dean's loud voice rang through the apartment and he wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. After a quick trip to the bathroom, splashing water on his face and practicing being calm, he stepped out of his room to find his brother dragging a small duffel bag out. He raised his eyebrow. "Flying out?"

"Nope," Dean said with a bright grin. Sam couldn't help but feeling a little amused. His brother's moods were very infectious. That feeling turned into confusion as a similar bag was thrown at him. He struggled with it for a moment, having been startled, before finding his grip. "Uhm, what?"

"It's not a case. Cas is gone and we're grounded. Weekends all free and I figured we'd take a field trip."

"A field trip?" Sam asked, skeptical. He was already not liking the sound of this. "Cas is gone?"

"Yeah a field trip, there an echo in here?" Dean looked away before continuing, "Cas got called away by some DB higher up."

Sam continued to stare, confused, until Dean marched up to him, dropping a paper on top of the duffel. He squinted at it. "What am I looking at?" Dean pointed to an article. "Some guy jumped a building, so what?"

"We're gonna go check it out."

"What?"

"There wax in your ears Sammy? It's nearby and the story sounds cool."

"Dean, I'm not allowed to work for-"

"The FBI I know I know. I never said we were going as cops or agents. Seriously keep reading, there's a ghost story attached to it."

"Since when are you into folklore?" Sam let his bag drop and skimmed the article. "You believe in ghosts now?"

"Nah but I got fifty bucks riding on this."

Sam sputtered a little, "Dean!"

"What?"

"You can't make bets on victims."

"Sure I can, not like he's around to care. Now come on, don't be a douche."

"I'm pretty sure out of the two of us I'm the one on a higher moral ground." Sam paused for a moment, nearly flinching. The number in his pocket felt like it was burning a hole through his jeans and that wasn't even the start of the list.

Dean ignored it. "Come on, aren't you at least a little bit interested? Put those little gray cells to use! I'm sure your brains been turning to mush on coffee duty."

Sam sighed. He really should fight this. It was stupid and there really wasn't any point in doing it. Besides, who the hell took field trips to see dead people? Or, he supposed, crime scenes. It seemed like a very mentally unstable thing to do. Still, with the guilt hanging heavy over his shoulders, and realizing that his brother just wanted them to get out of the apartment and do something, he conceded. It would probably be a good distraction anyway. "Fine, but I get to drive."

"Hell no!" Dean threw a towel he was packing at him. "Now get your shit and let's go."

As they walked out the door Sam shrugged to himself. It wasn't like they hadn't done weirder things.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Cas touched a finger to his lips, swearing he could feel them still tingle even after hours of separation. He'd been in transit most of the day but now that he was seated and in his own mind he felt touches all over him. Castiel was on personal jet Zachariah had provided and being brought to an undisclosed location. He reasoned to himself that the tingling dancing across his body was because he hadn't had time to compartmentalize what had happened. Immediately after Dean's departure he'd packed his stuff and headed home. Zachariah had demanded an instant response to the phone call but he'd waited until he had checked the other voicemails left for him at the apartment. Without even time for a shower he'd had to get to the airport. Castiel was to take a commercial flight a few cities over, why he couldn't have driven there was beyond him, where after long negotiations with security about why he had a gun, he'd been ushered onto the jet.

Perhaps it was just that, the speed at which he'd been removed from Dean. That without a shower his mind and body could pretend that it had only happened moments ago. The development had not been anything he'd expected. Admitted, he had enough self-confidence to know that he was not unattractive. He also had a confident, if quirky, personality and many found that to be desirable. He knew he had much to offer. Still he hadn't expected Dean to be one of those attracted enough to him to do something about it. There had been moments, of course, where Cas had speculated if the setting had been a smoky bar on a hot summer night they wouldn't have made it far past 'hello' before tumbling into the sheets. However, nothing about since they met to when they'd parted had been anything so casual. It was filled with blood, red tape and fire. Government secrets and dead bodies. They were high profile agents; not even ones that had met as casual colleges whose relationship had developed over coffee filled 'good mornings' as they passed the halls. Their dynamic, Cas had assumed, had been clearly outlined for them.

Still, he felt thrilled.

No one knew regulations better than he did. Yes, he'd been known to bend them a few times but it had always been within the limits of a second regulation. Including having practically memorized their handbook, the sexual harassment seminar every year stressed how detrimental to a working environment colleagues dating was. They couldn't of course ban emotions so there was a requirement of re-assignment if they wanted to continue a relationship at the office. He didn't want Dean to leave and he didn't want to get relocated to a strange team. Though perhaps for him the consequences would be more severe. They might demote him, accuse him of tampering with Dean's acceptance. Castiel felt a small chill crawl up his back. There was a very small chance of it happening but he didn't want Dean's position to be compromised simply because Cas had made the final hiring decision. He hoped testimony from the other agents would be enough if things got out of hand. Bobby at the very least held a lot of weight around the office.

Despite all these worries, all the reasons that he was telling himself 'no' for; he couldn't help it. As the landing strip came into view he rested his head against the window. He knew that that the moment he made it back to Virginia and saw Dean again there would be that hunger and want. He'd need to start practicing keeping that out of his features. (The only saving grace was that none of his co-workers knew what he looked like when his mind was per-occupied with passion.) Cas also knew that the moment he got Dean alone in a room with him that he'd need to claim those lips again as his own. He prayed that by the time he returned the other man wouldn't have changed his mind.

He didn't see Zachariah until he was at the office, having been picked up by two other CIA agents.

"Agent Novak! Good of you to come."

"I was instructed to," Castiel said evenly as he was herded into the small conference room. It was just him and Zachariah.

"Right of course, donuts? Coffee?" Zachariah's cheer confused him. Castiel wasn't rung for causal calls. He'd expected the mood to be more serious. Something that had required his immediate attention.

"No thank you."

"Well, we'll have a late lunch sometime later. Been traveling all day, bet you're ready to just hit the sack huh?"

"I feel fine."

"Good, wouldn't want you falling asleep at the table, right?" Zachariah laughed and dug himself out a small pastry, pushing the box into the center of the table with a wink at Cas. "How's Virginia? I hear you guys are getting good weather there for the weekend. Shame you have to miss it."

Castiel sighed and wrung his hands together. It was the only outward show of impatience he was willing to let himself exhibit. "Zachariah, if I may. If this is a social call I could've done that from Quantico." His own voice sounded peevish to him. He looked over his shoulder as the door was nudged open.

Uriel walked in holding two cups of coffee. For whatever reason he felt himself wanting one now that his mood was deflating. Cas tempered a little as Uriel handed him a cup, made just how he liked it. Even though there was no reason to be so impressed, they'd worked many nights together and had quickly learned each others habits, he was thankful that he wasn't going to have to force himself to drink something that would foul his mood more. "Thank you."

"Get on with it," Uriel told Zachariah, just as grouchy as Cas was. If his hunch was correct they'd both been pulled from their personal locations for this little meeting.

"All right, all right. No need to get snippy. You're probably wondering why I brought you here, right? Uriel?"

Uriel seemed to fight rolling his eyes with impatience but fished out a file from the box at his feet. He slid the copy in front of Cas.

"That would certainly be beneficial to know," Cas muttered and opened the file. 'Jackson, Mississippi' was printed across the first page. The case they'd been yanked from.

"I bet you'd like more information on that."

"It has been on my mind," Cas conceded thumbing through the papers. Just about everything looked identical to his own except for the last few pages.

"We needed to get Winchester out of there."

Cas looked up, concerned. "Dean?"

"Well, he was kind of the only one there," Zachariah joked but Cas felt like his voice was slicked in oil.

"Why?" His mind ran through awful possibilities. He knew that the group had connections to Lucifer and thus could perhaps- Azazel, they could be related to Azazel but he was dead so Cas hadn't even considered it. The man had to dead. Castiel didn't miss. The only other person left that had a bright, purposeful target printed on the Winchester's was- "Meg Masters?"

Uriel scoffed, "She's insignificant and small. Nothing but a bottom feeding whore."

Cas frowned but didn't say anything. It hadn't felt insignificant and small to him. It hadn't felt unimportant that she'd had a hand in taking Sam away. That Dean had nearly lost his mind over it. It had felt panicky and like he had been riding a roller coaster he couldn't get off of as his hands slipped and slid around in her blood. The small terror that had crept through his well trained composure when he tried to pinch off one of her intestines as Dean took off through the large double doors. She'd almost cost them Dean's life, he'd almost been too late to the scene. He tried not to let a visible shudder pass through, wondering what he would've done if it had been Dean lying on the ground with a bullet through his head. Perhaps at the time he probably wouldn't have haunted him so but now it twisted his stomach into knots.

"Azazel." Zachariah leaned back in his chair and took a sip of his coffee, watching Cas intently to try and gauge his reaction.

"How? He's dead."

"It did nothing too important. Killing Azazel removed a knight from the board. Nothing more. The pieces keep playing and the game keeps going." Zachariah shrugged and stood up, walking leisurely around the table. "To be honest we hadn't expected things to happen as they did," he stopped and put a hand on Cas'. He felt like shaking it off. "Not that you didn't act very remarkably!" Zachariah pointed a finger at him before patting his shoulder and continuing to move. He let his palms rest on the table and loomed over them. "It would've been better to have him in custody but what can you do? Dean needed to be alive and Azazel was a scumbag. No one will miss him."

"But?" Cas felt a little sick.

"But, major evidence went with him. We were relying on a lot of cases being closed by getting him alive. Key testimony type stuff. We've got a few people we were hoping weren't going to see the light of day but without Azazel, well, it's all coincidence. We're not sure we can hold them any longer."

Cas paled. "Why wasn't I informed?"

"I agree with you," Uriel turned to Cas and gave a serious nod, "the way that the case was handled was poor. There are a lot of things that the CIA is being investigated for as far as procedures go because of it. Regretfully the events escalated rather quickly, there was no time to inform you." Uriel sounded genuinely apologetic.

"Well, we're debriefing you now," Zachariah cut in.

Castiel mood stayed sour and with the clipped, smug tone in Zachariah's voice he found himself getting a little angry. He understood need to know basis but he'd just single handedly caused the release of some criminals because he shot for the head instead of some non-vital organ. Hadn't negotiated him down. At least there was one silver lining. The person it had saved. "What's all this have to do with Dean?"

"Agent Winchester seems to be very keen on following his parents footsteps."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing," Zachariah gave a slick smile and diverted conversation. "The Winchester's seem to be like catnip for criminals. The interest by Azazel specifically. We believe there's something bigger, something more at play and Azazel pushed over the first domino piece. We've yet to see where the pieces fall but patterns are emerging. Especially with this-" Zachariah moved towards the edge of the room where he pulled down the overhead screen. He dug out a remote control as he whistled a tune and clicked it on. Azazel's face in a grainy background popped up.

_"____Sorry, kids! My mistake, should've had that on before I even hit record. I know at least some of you have heard of me, maybe even seen me on TV -now not included-..." _

Cas watched the recording in silence, becoming more concerned with every word out of the man's mouth.

"We found this in that little abandoned one-horse town he left them in, along with all the other bodies. Looks like he really went for a battle royal, and we all know who the victor was."

"Does Sam know?" Castiel asked feeling trepidation clog his lungs.

"We assume so, the tape had been watched by the time we retrieved it," Uriel said looking extremely unimpressed.

"Shouldn't we be taking Sam into protective custody then? I thought they were out of danger." Cas fought the fear crawling its way up his fine. He needed to get back to Virginia.

"He's really not the one we're concerned about." Zachariah's smile was too smug for the situation. It infuriated him.

"Dean?"

"He made a deal."

Cas leaned back in his chair, propping one arm up on the seat before staring at Agent Adler. "A deal?"

"With Azazel before you put a tunnel through his brain."

"How do you know this?"

"Informants in Lucifer's ranks. Just because the man's now rotting six feet under doesn't mean that the word didn't get out. The deal holds."

"What is this deal even-"

"We're not certain but it is a binding contract. It's why we had to get Dean away from the case. Dangling the bait too close would be a bad idea. We wanted to make sure no one came collecting early."

Cas felt rage well up in him. He wondered briefly if he would've been this upset if he didn't know what Dean's lips tasted like. "Bait? We need to keep him safe. Keep them both safe. Why has he been sanctioned to operate in the field!"

"Please, relax Agent Novak. He is in very capable hands."

"Capable?"

"Yes, we have the situation under control. Now if you're done with this rather unprofessional display we need to discuss Azazel and the consequences that follow. We've already got release dates coming up for some high profile cases. We need to make sure they get recycled straight back in."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Dean pulled up into the student parking lot and had immediately been griped at by Sam. Apparently there was very specific parking and without a sticker you could get a fine. Dean had said he knew that and didn't care until Sam had threatened him with horror stories of cars getting a boot. It was a bad day waiting to happen so they'd parked in visitor parking nearly at the edge of campus. The walk was going to be hell but it didn't dampen Dean's good mood. His brother seemed less constipated than usual and like Dean might've actually had a good idea for once. They were standing at a campus map trying to figure out where to go.

"Must feel like old times, huh?"

"What? Oh." Sam moved in next to him, looking for the building they were trying to find. "Stanford was bigger."

"Well aren't you fancy," Dean grumbled as he pulled back, confident in the direction they were going.

Which, of course, had landed them at the complete opposite side of campus, but at least they'd made it to the downtown area and found a bar. Sam complained and Dean told him it was recon. 'He'd intended to go there all along', 'ask the students about the professor'.

"Dean, you don't exactly look like a young, bright eyed and bushy tailed student."

"So?"

"I mean we look out of place," Sam grumbled feeling a little ridiculous. He towered over most of the people he met but having been out of school for a few years, he felt even bigger.

"Maybe you do, I'll never lose this young mug." Dean grinned and slapped his brother on the back, shoving him into the bar first. Having driven all day the sun was already starting to set and on a Friday night and the place seemed busy. Dean found the bartender and grabbed a few drinks, enthusiastically throwing himself into what he told Sam was research. Which, it was. He sent Sam off to go information hunting on his own grounds and put on a charming smile as a young woman approached him, sliding along the counter next to him.

He attempted to flirt, throwing on his best smile and leaning in subtly. His movements felt clunky. The woman smiled back and moved in closer, not noticing Dean's awkward behavior. He tried to up his game as he continued to feel flustered. He'd never had this problem before.

Dean's hand almost flew up to his neck as he obsessively went through all the reasons why he would be feeling weird.

He'd never been-

Another nervous feeling twittered through him and he downed his drink, reaching for another. He waved the bartender over and paid for one of hers. He'd never felt this nervous, or this wrong after having a little bit of lip locking and moving on. It wasn't like he was cheating either. Him and Cas weren't much of anything. Friends, colleagues, but not something that should make him feel so guilty as the blond ran her hand along the counter top to where it rested near his, heat coming off of it. He coughed and suddenly felt extremely out of place.

"Hey."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief as Sam's large body came into view, voice rising above the noise. Sam tilted his head towards the door and Dean followed willingly, giving the blond an apologetic smile and throwing a few compliments along with it. It wasn't her fault that Dean didn't have a handle on his personal life.

"So?"

Sam led Dean a good distance away so that they didn't have to shout to be heard over the music playing in the bar. "Found some people to talk to."

"And? Don't spoon feed it to me. Spit it out."

"Croft hall. This legend about it has been around for around thirty years. Apparently some girl was having an affair with the professor, when he cut it off she jumped from room 669."

"All right, that's something."

"How is that something?" Sam rolled his eyes. "We're not kids anymore, Dean, it's time to let the ghost stories drop. And I highly doubt there's someone from thirty years ago still prowling around waiting to shove philanthropist professors out of windows."

"Hey, doesn't mean we can't have a little fun," Dean protested and although he felt a little ridiculous, and Sam seemed annoyed, they were at least doing something together. Something that felt normal. Well, not as far as the activity went but in how they were behaving around one another. Like there wasn't a price on his head and even Sam had forgotten about it. "Come on, let's check out the building."

"Dean-" Sam's protest were ignored and Dean was pleased when Sam eventually caught up with him. "Fine, but we're just looking at the building, that's it."

They made it to Croft hall and stared up from the steps. Dean walked up a few of them and found the spot where Arthur Cox had landed. While the clean up crew had done the best they could Dean still saw the faint stains left by where Cox's head had cracked open. "Gross," he mumbled and walked a few more steps back, trying to count the windows for the floors.

"Are we done yet?"

"What? No- gimme a minute."

"A minute for what?"

Dean whirled around towards the entrance to see a man of short stature, in a blue jump suit leaning against a broom.

"Uhm-" Dean hadn't actually expected to run into anyone but students. Prowl around a bit, have some fun, and find a way to twist the story to get his $50 out of Charlie. He didn't have a cover story planned and he wasn't about to go flashing his badge. He could get in a lot of trouble for that.

"I'd say damn shame but," the man shrugged and looked up to where Dean had been staring momentarily too, "was bound to happen."

"Excuse me?" Sam moved forward.

"Oh come on, it's all over the papers. Guy had girls in his office all the time. Day, night, all his ducks lined up nicely. I'm not surprised one of the ducks pushed back."

"And you are?"

"The janitor," the man gave them a look before shrugging and moving to brush collected dirt off of the first step. "I found him."

"Oh- you. You found him? My condolences," Sam said with a frown.

The man shrugged, "I just sweep the floors, buddy. No tragic loss for me."

"Worked here long?" Dean asked as he stepped back, allowing the man to clean another step down.

"Six years I've been mopping theses floors. And trust me these guys come and go. Most of 'em just don't go quite as spectacularly as that."

"Right."

"There anything I can help you guys with? I thought the cops had this wrapped up?" The janitor paused to lean on his broom again. "I can go get my keys if you want a look inside?"

"No! No," Dean lowered his voice. "We're uh, we're good. We just came to look at the building," before Dean could help himself he slipped into a role, "again. We'd just heard some really stupid things and the office was getting clogged up because of it, but, everything's A-OK."

The man shrugged as Dean and Sam waved tight smiled good byes. "Glad that got figured out."

"I thought you said we weren't going to be here as officers," Sam grouched as they walked across the campus to the car.

"Shut up Sam," Dean shot back as he hurried. Just because he'd parked his car in the appropriate place didn't mean that someone hadn't broken into it. He suddenly didn't trust leaving his car on a college campus anymore. Or at least, that's what he told himself. Running away from a janitor seemed pathetic. "I knew what I was doing."

Sam laughed, loud and hearty. "Right. Well, good to know you're someone to depend on in quick-thinking situations. I hope you're satisfied, I know I am."

"Oh can it," Dean grumbled. He kept his expression grumpy despite feeling pretty good. Sam seemed less down in the dumps. He tossed comments back at his brother as he was teased for losing his oh so well practiced professionalism because of a five-foot janitor.

They'd already rented a motel room for the night and ended up staying, intending on leaving in the morning. What they hadn't expected was when Dean had gone to grab them breakfast in the morning for a report of a student on campus being in the hospital to be released in the morning. It seemed something very insignificant to print in a paper. Dean picked up a morning edition of the university newspaper anyway and brought it with him to the motel room just as Sam was finishing packing.

"Does this kid look familiar to you?"

Sam took the newspaper from him as Dean set the coffee's down. "Huh," Sam switched his stance to lean more on his other foot, "Yeah. He's uh, I talked to him yesterday. About Croft hall?"

"Well, apparently your buddy there had a close encounter sometime after you left him. What'd he been drinking last night?"

"Regular people drinks," Sam sat down on the bed and flipped trough it. He made a disbelieving face, "Probed? He was kidnapped into a spaceship and probed?"

"I know man, crazy."

"Not crazy," Sam closed the paper and frowned, "illegal. Aliens don't exist and while you might think this is hilarious this sounds heavily unconsensual."

"Woah woah," Dean held his hands up and sat down. He shoved the breakfast burrito towards Sam hoping to appease him for a moment. "It was probably just a bad trip, guy took some funny acid and thought something happened."

"Then why is he in the hospital?"

Dean shrugged and bit into his own sandwich. "Trust me it seems fishy, and I sure as hell don't support rape of any kind,- " Sam gave him a glare, "-but there's nothing we can do man. We're not here officially remember? We can't go waltzing in demanding a kit and an interview. Besides, it says he ran into a cop, screaming and yelling and when they tested him he was practically swimming in acid."

"You didn't have that problem with reality yesterday," Sam pointed out.

"Well the person in question was dead and the case closed."

"Then why did we come out here in the first place if the case was that closed?"

"Come on Sammy- really?" Dean huffed and ran an aggravated hand down the side of his face. "You wanna go visit him? Fine, let's go."

He ignored Sam's triumphant but pleased look as they piled into the Impala and drove back to campus.

Dean felt his knees go weak with disbelief and he nearly collapsed to the ground when they walked past Croft hall. In the grass, right beyond the steps where the professor had made a violent drop a few days ago, was a gigantic area of burnt grass. "You're kidding me."

Sam bent down and brushed his hand across it, "Well, if it helps it's just scorched. Like farmer's clear out fields sometimes? Controlled fires?"

"How the hell did no one notice a large patch of grass on fire? Maybe he really did get kidnapped."

"Dean-"

"Right right," he sighed put his hands to his hips. "You're gonna go play bleeding heart now?" Sam shoved him and Dean swatted at his brother's hand, indignant.

They didn't get to move very far. There was a bit of snickering behind them and Dean turned with a confused look. "Got something you wanna add, kid?"

A small group of student dispersed, leaving just one. Judging by his short stature he was a freshman, looked kinda young and small too. "How about you?" Dean asked.

"Not really," the boy shrugged and stared at the ground, shaking his head. "Can't say I feel bad for the guy. A bad trip is awful, and you know this is pretty far to go for a joke, but he kinda had it coming."

"What?" Sam moved towards the boy, concern radiating from his body. And while Dean would agree that no one ever 'had it coming' to 'em when it came to things like this he wasn't exactly ready to play justice warrior without the facts. It still sounded like a bad trip to him with smoke and mirrors. He wasn't convinced a real crime had occurred.

"Guy was a dick. Pledge master for a bunch of us. Made us do some really stupid," the boy looked to the side and the glowered at the burnt grass a little bit, "painful shit. Got off on humiliating us. Now he knows how it feels. He's the laughing stock of the entire school."

Dean and Sam stared at each other for a moment and the kid took it as his que to leave. "So?"

"I guess there's nothing really here," Sam mused and shrugged his shoulders. "And really none of our business. It sounds like it was just a practical joke." He rubbed a hand through his hair. "Man, I don't remember college being like this back when I went."

"Hah! I was right," Dean grinned as he started marching back towards the car. "Now if we could just get back home so I can go collect my reward."

And they would have gone back if when they'd gotten to the motel room there hadn't been a small mishap. Namely, Sam's laptop was missing.

"Where is it?"

"I don't fuckin' know," Dean shot back, aggravated.

"No one's been in this room since we left, we're paranoid about the locks. You were on it last night." Dean was about to protest. He'd maybe used it for a second. "And don't think I didn't see the screen it was frozen on. I barely got it fixed."

"And you think I did something with it in the few minutes I've had by myself?"

"No one else could've. We don't let maids in and it doesn't look like anyone's broken in here. This isn't funny. How would you feel if I screwed with the Impala?"

"It'd be the last thing you ever did." Dean stared him down. "And I'm not laughing," Dean paused and snickered a bit. "Okay I'm laughing a little bit. About time you lost something, knock you off that high horse a little bit."

"Dean, I don't lose things," Sam countered, glaring at him. "And we're not leaving until we find it."

"Just buy a new one."

"All my information is on there, I can't just back that up out of thing air."

"Didn't they tell you to keep copies in school Poindexter?"

"Shut up and help me look."

"Don't be a little bitch," Dean responded, huffy now. Apparently the 'don't believe in good moments' pattern from the day before was continuing. He hated being accused for doing something, especially when he actually hadn't done something. Dean thought they'd been getting along just fine. "I'm going to get food."

He marched out and closed the door before Sam could protest.

They spent most of he day avoiding each other and getting one each other's nerves. Sam was refusing to leave until they'd found his laptop, he'd filed a report with the local police and the motel but he was adamant on not leaving. Apparently since it had been Dean's 'stupid idea anyway' to make this trip he was supposed to keep footing money for the room until they found it. Dean spent most of his time trying his best to trigger his brother's pet peeves, eating food on his bed and turning the music up loud. Maybe if Sam got really tired of having Dean around he'd just tell him to leave.

Their grouching at each other had to take a break as towards the evening loud sirens wailed past their motel, startling both of them.

"What the hell?" Sam stood up to go the window, watching the headlights disappear into the turn lane for the school. "I think they're headed to campus."

"Really?" Dean stood up and brushed off flakes of food from his jeans. "What is with this school? Maybe it really is haunted?"

Sam shrugged and watched as two more cop cars followed the same trail.

"Come on," Dean tapped his brother on the shoulder and shrugged on his own jacket. While there was always a heavy set of skepticism to be had he also had a hard time believing in coincidences. Specifically when it concerned time line. If another person had taken a leap out of building there was reason for suspicion. Suicide's didn't come this close together naturally in the majority of cases, which meant there was a third party at play with a helluva short cooling off period. (Or a third variable in general.)

What they'd found at the scene threw Dean for a loop. He'd told Sam to stay back, walking in on a fresh crime scene wasn't exactly something that they'd be able to do together. Pieces, torn pieces. The techs on scene said that they were still trying to dig as many parts as they could out of the sewer but for the most part only an arm, a leg, and parts of a torso remained of the victim. In the one remaining hand there had been a gold watch grasped. They would let him know the second they identified the person. He jogged back to where Sam was waiting by the car.

"What happened?"

Dean shook his head, "I dunno man. This guy was in pieces. Ragged bits too, not like he was methodically cut apart but like he'd been chomped on."

"So not another jumper?" Sam leaned back against the car staring at the still flashing lights against the night sky.

"No, but I think I'm going to call this in," Dean sighed, "at the very least I should account for my whereabouts if this gets bigger."

Dean called Bobby and after a brief conversation was told to remain at the motel and he was going to see if anyone could come down. Unless they were invited in it wouldn't be an official case but at the very least they could get access to the morgue, take a look around. He was also going to give the information to the proper channels. Dean hesitated to include the alien thing but he figured starting with the professors 'haunted' suicide to a guy getting torn to bits all information would be relevant.

"You didn't tell him I was here," Sam pointed out as they piled into the car, heading back towards the motel.

"Nope."

"Why?"

Dean shrugged, "If he tells me to send you home tomorrow, fine. But right now you're just a civilian hanging around on campus whose brother happens to be an agent. Relax, we're fine."

Which of course, meant that things would end up not fine.

Dean cursed as he lifted himself out a sewer, having been okay'd as an assisting agent for the case by the locals. The body had definitely been in at least two or three locations. The dismemberment, although some of the pieces had been yanked off by the storm drain, had occurred elsewhere which indicated heavy foul play. They were still identifying the animal that had torn him to pieces and why someone had bothered to bring the body back instead of leaving it to be fully consumed to hide their trail. Which meant they had to take a crew down through the sewers since flesh had been found in the drain. The victim had been another professor on campus. A research scientist working on animal testing. Which made the victim count to two professors at least, and with the cooling period being less than a week apart, it was enough to warrant serious attention. A part of the campus had been blocked off and they were allowing some students the chance to go home or find other lodging during the investigation.

"I need to go work out," Dean told himself while he grunted, hoisting himself out of drain. He sighed as he breathed fresh air and walked towards his car. Having found nothing he figured he could call it in and get back to the motel to eat. Besides it would probably be a good idea to check on Sammy to make sure he hadn't wandered off anywhere. He was pretty sure that it would look bad for Sam's re-in-statement papers if he'd been prowling around a crime scene, whether he was there officially or not.

What he found at his car left his blood boiling and made the ten minute car ride back to the motel last a good hour longer due to walking and having his car towed so he could replace the tires.

He slammed the door open as he entered, finding Sam sitting in a chair reading a book.

"You can't let the air out of the tires you'll bend the rims!"

Sam looked up, confused, "What? I didn't go near your car!"

"Then how'd I find this?" Dean held up the clip wallet that he'd picked up near the Impala. Seeing as he'd left Sam at the motel that morning there was no other way it could've gotten there.

He watched as Sam stood, searching his pockets and a glare formed on his face. "Give that back."

"No, consider it reparations for emotional trauma," Dean shook his head, anger still boiling in his veins. "I'm on active duty too, it's not exactly the right time to be fuckin' around!"

"I haven't left the room all day! Now give that back."

"No."

Sam launched forward and Dean ducked, holding his hand out further. He attempted to stuff it into his pocket as Sam moved forward again, grabbing him by his elbow. They wrestled until they hit the edge of the bed and as they flailed, trying not to fall, Dean swept Sam's leg out from underneath him, bringing both of them crashing to the floor.

"Everything all right in there?"

The two froze on the ground, staring at the door. "Fine!" Dean called out, wriggling out from underneath Sam and throwing the money clip out of reach. He walked to the door and opened it. He stepped aside to let Bobby enter the room, suit rumpled indicating he'd just come from the scene.

"Fine, huh?" Bobby repeated, skeptical. He eyed the room and the mess in it before zeroing in on Sam. "There a reason he's here?"

Sam swallowed, "Nice to see you again, sir."

"Pleasure," Bobby grouched but didn't comment on it further. It wasn't like they'd violated any laws, and he had been curious about how the younger Winchester was doing. He'd managed to get one of John's boys under his radar but paperwork hadn't finished out yet on Sam's status. He was sure that they would both end up working in Quantico but there was nothing to be done about a slow system. "Would you like to tell me how you two idjits stumbled on this mess?"

"It's not like we did it on purpose," Dean defended leaning against the edge of one of the tables in the room.

"Dean wanted to go on a field trip to visit a dead guy," Sam interjected with an eye roll before zeroing in on his clip of money by Dean's feet.

"Crime scene, not the dead guy, there's a difference," Dean responded petulantly.

"We also wouldn't be in this mess. I mean what kind of person takes a field trip to a crime scene?"

"Hey-! You agreed to come along, don't pin this on me."

"You practically forced me into it, Dean. You weren't going to take no for an answer!"

"Oh bull shit, you're just pissed at me because you lost your shit."

"I didn't lose it you took it!"

"The hell I did."

"Boys!" Bobby's voice rang over their argument and they both retreated to their corners, feeling fairly chastised. "What in the world is going on? Admitted I haven't seen you two interacting together since Oklahoma but I don't recall it being this bad."

"Sam tried to break the Impala."

"I wasn't near that car, Dean, and you took my laptop."

Bobby sighed and sank into a chair. "If I weren't on the job I'd grab a beer." He straightened and pointed a finger at each of them in turn. "You two are going to sit down and shut up for a few minutes. Dean, we are going to be here on an FBI capacity." Dean looked surprised. If they had gotten the all clear this was bad. "So it's actually a good thing that you two took the field trip up here. Probably would've never got wind of this if you hadn't called it in. I'm not gonna go spilling case information with Sam here, but I can clear something up. Dean didn't take your laptop," he gave Sam a look to which he protested, "and Sam didn't mess with your tires."

"What- but I found this," Dean picked the clip off the floor and waved it in the air.

"That is about as far as I'm willing to go with information. But you've been had. You two hit the radar pretty big when the OKC office exploded. You thought your daddy was famous? He was playing pewee and you two are in the major leagues in circuits. The moment you two set foot on that campus he knew the feds were here. You were targeted. And maybe if you two hadn't been going at each other's throats you would've figured that out by now."

"I'm not following," Dean said, sliding from the table into an actual chair.

"Well you'll have to be lost for a little longer," Bobby stood from the chair and nodded towards Sam. "Until he gets clearance we can't discuss more information than that. You wanna spill the beans when you get home? Fine, but find a way to get him home first. I'll be waiting at the precinct." He looked around the room a bit, "And clean up after yourselves. The maid's have it hard enough without you two breaking furniture."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

It always ended up the janitor. Maybe Scooby-Doo had actually taught him something useful.

After some digging around and with a few phone calls they'd managed to pin point a pattern. It didn't show up very often but when it did it always came with bells and whistles. In this care bloody bells and whistles; coupled with a morbid and ironic sense of humor.

The Trickster was his code name. The man had money too and apparently money truly did mean power, and in this case supplies. Because it baffled him how in the world he could be standing in a university auditorium, with his gun raised at two scantily clad women on a bed straight out of a porno, talking to a short guy with a sugar complex. Either that or someone had slipped something into his drink too and he was about to make the next front page.

"They're a peace offering. I know exactly who you are, who your brother is. Who you work for. I also know your track record." The Trickster leaned back in the chair, head tilted as he unwrapped a lollipop, rolling a large jaw breaker in his hand.

"Well, then you know that the FBI isn't exactly supportive of murdering people."

"Oh come on, one of 'em isn't even dead. Probably never going to try putting anything creative in his system again but hey- they got what they deserved," the Trickster sat forward. "Now, you don't know it, but I like you. And your brother. You've got a certain something that makes me very interested in you." He smiled and shrugged. "Been making waves and I like the way you've made them. So, enjoy. Just for long enough for me to skip to the next town."

Dean glanced back at the women, biting his lip. It was easier to look away than he'd expected. On one hand this was definitely something that would've made the books but on the other apparently the campus was poison for him and women. Or perhaps that was the nagging sense of guilt combating his libido as his eyes trailed away from their breasts. "I can't. Don't get me wrong, they were dicks and douche bags, and man do I like people getting what's comin' to 'em, but I can't just ignore the system or that people are dead."

"Too bad," the Trickster frowned and gave a nod to women. "It's interesting what type of help you can get with the right influence."

The Trickster snapped his fingers and Dean found himself knocked face first into the hard plastic edge of one of the auditorium seats. Dean's gun fell from his hand and slid across the room. He fumbled into his coat pocket as he tried to deflect a heel flying towards his face to alert back up to storm the room. They needed the guy alive, if the unconnected cases were to be believed he a lot to answer for, so they'd wanted to wait until the last minute before pulling troops in. Cross-fire damage was a bad idea. With how unpredictable the guy's pattern was. He hadn't earned his name by playing by the rules, and his seemingly unlimited supplies meant they didn't know what he was packing.

He felt the button click into place and as he was yanked back towards the stage he heard the auditorium doors bang open and two lines of agents filing in from both sides. He managed to let a small grin of triumph slip past his lips as the Trickster looked around himself. Dean deflected another blow and attempted to grab the brunette's arm to twist it behind her, he really wasn't sure what protocol was for fighting half naked women. What little elation he'd had drained away as he started hearing gunfire. As far as he'd been able to tell the guy had been unarmed. Dean managed a glance up to see that a few of the boys they'd brought with them and turned fire on the rest of the team.

The fucker had slipped his own men in.

Dean managed to fling the two women away from him, vaulting towards the chair and trying to reach the Trickster, pulling his second firearm from the holster at his ankle and raising it. Before he even managed to make a threat a red smear started spreading clear across the man's lower abdomen. Dean eased up on his grip as he watched the Trickster's face drop, hands covering the wound and coming away bloody. His body trembled a little as he sank down in his chair, eyes vacant.

"We need a medic!" Dean yelled over the last few remnants of gun fire. Some idiot had shot straight through seat and into the man they specifically needed alive.

The gunfire stopped completely after that. Bobby was at his side quickly, helping him apply pressure as he checked the pulse along the wrist. Shallow but still there. They had maybe a few minutes. Medics shoved him a side and he was pulled back along with Bobby to let them do their job.

They were rushed out of the building and given their own once over by the emergency responders.

Later, when Sam was busy laughing at him for getting his ass kicked by two girls, he received a text from Bobby informing him that he'd been told that the Trickster had died on the way to the hospital. He also told him that the men that hadn't died in the crossfire, that had been hired, were dead as well. They were still investigating the cause of death seeing as the most damage they'd had when detained had been simple grazes. Still, it was looking like foul play. Bobby speculated a clean up to make sure no information was leaked. What that mattered to a dead man he didn't know but it wasn't uncommon for criminal circuits to keep tight ranks.

"Well fuck," Dean muttered as he flipped through his text messages, rubbing at his sore chin.

"You did your best to save him," Sam said in a somber tone. While teasing his brother about embarrassment was fun and games it wasn't exactly helpful to poke fun at a life lost under his hands. Even a criminal one.

"Yeah yeah." Dean opened up a beer and settled onto their couch. He turned the TV on.

"So, did Bobby share anything else?" Sam fidgeted a little with his own beer bottle, rolling it around in his hands.

"Oh yeah," Dean took a small sip, remembering that his brother hadn't been with him. "They actually don't know that much. Bunch of smoke and mirror shit. But apparently this dude is-was, some nutjob with money. Crime network loose canon or something, it's the only explanation for having that much spending cash and not showing up in any tax records. Dunno how he made his money, they're thinking weapons dealer or something but there's really been no trace of the guy except the MO he leaves behind. Even then that's a signature left behind on purpose. They still haven't ID'd the Trickster or I'm sure I would've been told. There was really no reason to send you home."

Sam shrugged, "Well I kinda understand it. I mean the fact that the feds got called in at all is kind of a big deal." He sighed and paused for a second, fidgeting again, nervous. He'd had time to cool down since he'd been waiting back at the apartment. "Well, either way it's over now and Dean. I'm so-"

"Yeah." Dean swallowed. "Me too, now can we put on some violent action movie so I can feel manly again. Jesus."

Sam laughed but didn't bother to bitch as Dean tried to find the most explosive movie on TV.

As they went to bed that night Dean laughed to himself while he brushed his teeth. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, letting the adrenaline ease out of his system. In the excitement he'd completely forgotten to worry about Cas. Dean trailed his fingers across his neck and frowned at the slowly fading marks on his neck.

He hoped that when Cas got back he'd be willing to give him new ones.

**A/N: **We're not going to see Gabriel for awhile of course, and it won't be revealed that he is Gabriel until Cas and him have an encounter. Rest assured he is not dead, and this was the best way I could translate materializing that type of stuff out of nowhere. I figure if you can spend a few hundred thousand dollars on a hit man why not ask if they can do it in lingerie? Or buy some pet carnivores and gleefully throw body parts about. Each character in the angels has a specific background and why they are where they are in the story but we're not quite there yet so I can't reveal it. So have patience and give me the benefit of the doubt?


End file.
